


The Biker and the Songbird

by Processpending



Series: The Biker and the Songbird [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Biker AU, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Recovery, Slow Burn, eventual geraskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 100,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Processpending/pseuds/Processpending
Summary: When Jaskier's boyfriend, Valdo, drags him to the White Wolf bar to perform, he knows he can't mess this up for him, but it doesn't matter how well he plays, Valdo will always find him wanting and remind Jaskier of how he needs to be better. When Geralt, leader of the Witchers, a group of bikers who help get people out of dangerous relationships finds Valdo "reminding" Jaskier he needs to try harder Jaskier gets the escape he never thought would come.But moving on isn't as simple as leaving a bad situation
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Biker and the Songbird [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801612
Comments: 1570
Kudos: 638





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veritasrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritasrose/gifts).



> Please heed the tags, this story will get dark before it gets better and I don't want to trigger anyone. While the ED is not explicitly discussed, there are tendencies that may be difficult to some. If you have any questions find me on tumblr at: process-pending.

“Marx was right, he’s good.” Yennefer prompts, eyeing the brunette that’s managed to gain most of the bar’s patron’s attention. Valdo had been pestering Geralt to let his boyfriend play at the White Wolf for months and finally Geralt had relented and it had nothing to do with the interest he had in the young man. Absolutely nothing. 

Geralt narrows his eyes at Yennefer where she’s absently lining up shot glasses and filling them, holding his golden gaze, a challenge in her eyes.

“Hmm. He is.” Geralt finally concedes.

“Did he just?” Triss leans her forearms on the bar next to Yennefer, her red hair twisted up in a complicated bun that will work itself loose as the night wears on. Geralt turns from the all too pleased smirks on the women’s faces, threading his way back through the crowd, his eyes never leaving the slight form of Jaskier on the stage. 

Marx either didn’t understand or didn’t care how Geralt worked, but it didn’t stop him from pestering Geralt with his application to join the Witchers or to let his boyfriend play. Geralt liked his bar the way it was, he didn’t need an open mic night or a pretty boy in skinny jeans, but the regulars have fallen mostly silent since he started to play. 

“Th-Thank you.” Jaskier approaches the edge of the small stage like he expects to be thrown out of the bar, his eyes darting nervously to Marx who is weaving his way across the room towards Geralt.

“What did I tell you? He’s great, right?” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest, expression unamused as he looks down at the shorter man, but Marx is as oblivious as he always is, gloating about how he was helping Jaskier. 

Jaskier lingers at the bar where Valdo said he would be waiting for him, but he's nowhere to be found. Scanning the room, Jaskier finds his boyfriend talking to an imposing man with long white hair. _White Wolf is right_. Jaskier muses to himself. Valdo spoke often of the White Wolf bar but it wasn’t until recently that he deemed Jaskier good enough to let him play here and now he’d abandoned Jaskier so he could talk to the owner, who isn’t looking too thrilled. 

“You were good.” Jaskier turns at the voice, a beautiful bartender with lavender eyes is watching him, her palms pressed to the bartop, shoulders back as she raises an eyebrow. “What are you drinking? This one’s on the house.” Jaskier glances to Valdo again, he doesn’t like it when Jaskier drinks but right now he needs something to fortify himself against what he’s sure will be another of Valdo’s “talks”. 

“Mai-tai? Please?” Jaskier knows he’s made the wrong choice as soon as the words leave his mouth. He's just grateful Valdo isn’t present for his fuck up, he should've just said beer or scotch, which is what everyone else appears to be drinking. 

“If you need anything, I’m Yennefer and I’ll get that right out for you.” Yennefer tells him, jutting her chin in a gesture Jaskier doesn’t understand until a voice comes from behind him. 

“Do you have a Soundcloud account?” Jaskier turns at the question, surprised to see a small group of people have made their way over. Jaskier stumbles through the first few questions, most just want to buy him a drink, asking when the next time he’ll be playing is.

“One...drink.” Yennefer’s there again, sliding a tall glass on a napkin at him and he’s never been so grateful for something to hold onto. He takes a long swallow, knowing it’s rude but needing a little liquid courage, Valdo usually handled this side of things, softening people’s comments on how he could improve so he didn’t have to hear them directly. 

Jaskier blinks down at the drink, it’s definitely not a mai-tai and one look at the generous bartender confirms his suspicion that it wasn’t what he ordered but it has rum and is sweet and that’s more than enough. 

Geralt, had finally managed to shake Marx after begrudgingly agreeing that Jaskier was good and that maybe, _maybe_ he could play there again some night. Geralt wasn’t sure if it was his relenting or if Marx had seen the panic in Jaskier’s blue eyes, the way he was clutching his drink like it would ward people off, that finally made him leave. 

The night slips on, the bar getting more crowded and Geralt heads down to the cellar, hauling cases of beer up the rickety steps he swears he’s going to replace and into the walk in cooler, making it easier for Yennefer and Triss to grab. 

Geralt steps back into the bar, surprised the din that had been steadily mounting all night seems to have finally tapered off, though the tables are just as full. Geralt slips behind the bar to help Yennefer with drinks, Triss weaving her way through the room, a tray laden with drinks balanced at her shoulder and right past the table of idiots that had been obnoxious since they arrived.

“What do you say you bring me drinks at my place?” What looks to be their leader sneers, arm starting at Triss’ waist before decidedly moving lower. Geralt has barely taken a step before Lambert is there, his grip alone has the asshole rising out of his seat as though height will make the pain stop. 

Triss smoothly keeps moving to her next table as Lambert leans down, twisting the wrist he still holds but whatever words he growls are lost to the hum of the bar. He all but throws the man’s arm back at him, his buddies seeming to share one brain cell as they fumble for their wallets, dropping enough cash on the table to cover their drinks and a hefty tip before they’re hurrying for the door. Lambert scowls about the room, warning anyone else off for the night. 

“That’s not our only problem.” Yennefer says as she fills two more beers, whisking them down the bar before she turns, propping her hip against the counter and blatantly ignoring the line of people still waiting. “Our cub got taken for a walk he didn’t want to go on." Geralt frowns, not following at first but quickly notes the crowd has died down, Jaskier nowhere to be found or his damn boyfriend that's been hanging on him all night. Fuck.

Geralt is around the bar with a growl and a look in his eye that clears a path to the exit. The door slams open, startling those approaching who rethink patronizing the bar tonight, a murmur rippling through those inside, looks exchanged among those in the know. 

“Our boy doing something dumb?” Eskel materializes on a bar stool before Yennefer as though he’d been there all night, pulling his gaze from the door to hers.

“Undoubtedly.” Yennefer confirms before shrugging, “But he can handle it.” Eskel’s mouth twitches at that but he turns and meets the eyes of Lambert across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He under Witchers’ protection?” 
> 
> Geralt’s eyes fix on him, seeming to war with something before he nods to himself and turns back to Yennefer. “Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that contains a scene of abuse and it is being interrupted/stopped. If this is triggering but you'd like to keep reading I have added in ~~~ to show where it starts and stops.

Motorcycles line the front of the bar, the further spots taken up by cars but nowhere does Geralt see Valdo Marx or Jaskier and that’s so much worse. Geralt knows he can check Marx’s application to join the Witchers for his address but by the time he digs it out, _if_ he even kept it and made it there...no Yennefer wouldn’t risk them getting far. 

Geralt takes two steps back towards the front door of the White Wolf before he abruptly changes direction, the crowded room will only slow him down and if he’s right he needs every moment. 

**~~~**

The bar isn’t large, he doesn’t want, nor need, it to be, but that also means he’s around the side and nearly to the back in under a minute. Voices reach him first, his pace quickening at the sickening sound of flesh on flesh.

“You worthless slut! How many of them are you sleeping with? _How many?_ ”

“I’m not. I don’t, Val, _please_. I–” Jaskier’s plea is cut off by a sharp crack echoing through the night. 

Geralt spies the familiar bikes of Eskel and Lambert, Yennefer having opted for her matte black Challenger today, Triss’ vintage turquoise VW Bug is there too and nestled among all of them is Marx, Jaskier on his knees before him.

“You’ve made a fool of me in front of them. You _knew_ how important being a Witcher was and you couldn’t keep your filthy legs shut.” Valdo rears back, intending to kick Jaskier who cowers, his arms wrapping tighter around his stomach but his kick never connects.

“Marx!” Geralt barking his name is all the warning he gets before Geralt’s burying his fist in Valdo’s stomach, the shorter man doubling over but Geralt wastes no time in shoving him backward, sending him sprawling on the parking lot. Geralt turns to Jaskier who’s still on his knees, scared blue eyes tear their gaze from Valdo, widening when they fix on Geralt.

**~~~**

“Jaskier.” Geralt starts, stepping towards the kneeling man but Jaskier whimpers, jerking back as though he expects the next blow to come from Geralt. 

“Ger...mmurgh...Geralt, I won’t–” Valdo struggles to his feet, disgust clear as he glares at Jaskier. 

“ _Leave_.” Geralt growls the word, his fists clenching at his sides. Over Valdo’s shoulder he sees Lambert and Eskel standing just outside the backdoor, ready to intervene. Geralt’s body thrums with the urge to show Valdo what it feels like to have a boot in his gut but he knows it won’t do anything towards reassuring Jaskier he’s safe and can be trusted.

“But–” Valdo gestures towards Jaskier as though his very existence is answer enough. 

“The Witchers are made up of _men,_ there is no room for monsters.” Geralt grits the words out, moving closer and closer until Valdo has nowhere to look but at Geralt and the cold fury he sees there. Valdo glares up at Geralt, mind already twisting this into how it’s Jaskier’s fault before he’s turning, stalking away. 

Geralt looks to Lambert and Eskel, with a nod that confirms they will ensure Valdo heads directly to his car before turning back to Jaskier. The younger man is somehow impossibly smaller, his arms still hugging himself, head hanging as though the very surroundings are too heavy to face.

Geralt falters, the last time he’d approached Jaskier he’d brought fear to his eyes. His hand brushes his pocket, fingers seeking his phone as he thinks to call Yennefer, she’s better at these things but the thought of giving up on him, making Jaskier think for even a moment that Geralt found him a burden, has his hand dropping. 

“Jask,” Geralt waits until the brunette’s head rises, blue eyes rimmed in red but the fear is muted and Geralt takes that as a start. “You’re safe.” The words earn a disbelieving huff that seems to rattle Jaskier’s ribs, his hand spasming where it’s pressed. 

“He’ll be waiting for me.” Jaskier’s tone is mirthless, resigned to a welcoming that’s been made infinitely worse by Geralt’s intervention. The words twist in Geralt’s stomach, this was bad before he’d pissed Marx off and Geralt fears if Jaskier goes home Marx will take it out on him, the fear that if he messes this up it could cost Jaskier his life.

“I can take you somewhere safe. If you want.” Jaskier looks skeptical and Geralt doesn’t blame him, why should he trust him? “At least come back inside.” Jaskier glances past Geralt to the White Wolf and Geralt hopes that Eskel and Lambert, for once, aren’t looming.

Jaskier uses Yennefer’s car to pull himself up, one hand still bracing his ribs as he starts back towards the bar, keeping at least an arm’s length between him and Geralt, looking ready to bolt should Geralt so much as twitch wrong. Geralt doesn’t stop Jaskier when he heads for the side of the building, he doesn’t blame him for distrusting back doors to unknown areas.

Geralt scans the parking lot for signs of Marx but finds only Eskel leaning by the front door, catching Geralt’s eye he gives him a shake of his head, confirming Marx is gone. 

All eyes turn on them as the door opens, but Yennefer and Lambert’s are the only ones Geralt cares about, his golden gaze enough to turn everyone back to their drinks. Geralt makes a path for the bar, Jaskier trailing in his wake, cheeks burning with shame as he’s sure everyone in the bar must know how pathetic he is.

“He under Witchers’ protection?” Jaskier figures he’s missed part of the conversation in the few paces he was behind Geralt as Yennefer’s question makes no sense but Geralt seems to understand.

Geralt’s eyes fix on him, seeming to war with something before he nods to himself and turns back to Yennefer. “Yes.” 

With a sigh she calls over his shoulder, “Triss!” The redhead turns at the call and Yennefer beckons her over. “Cover for me?” Yennefer asks when she gets close enough, though it’s not really a question as she’s already lifting the section of counter that flips up. 

Triss glances to Jaskier before looking between Geralt and Yennefer, piecing something together Jaskier can’t even begin to understand and this realization only serves to make him feel more out of place. He thinks to leave, to call for a car but this is the opportunity he only dreamed of, escaping Valdo. 

Yennefer starts down the short hallway Jaskier knows leads to the bathroom and an Employees Only door, Geralt stepping to the side to let him go first, a trill of fear shooting through him but he forces himself down the hall, hoping his panic doesn’t show. 

The Employees Only door is open, the room beyond is small with a desk in one corner, a bank of lockers flanking one wall and a worn couch taking up the final wall. Yennefer is sitting on the far end of the couch, back pressed into the corner with one leg tucked under her. She offers a small smile when Jaskier peeks in, hesitant but she just gestures for him to take a seat on the couch and doesn’t seem offended when he presses himself into the far end. Geralt files in after him, leaving the door cracked.

“Don’t do your looming thing.” Yennefer chides though the fearful glances Jaskier keeps throwing in his direction is enough for Geralt to drop into the computer chair. The image of Geralt, a hardened biker wedged into a computer chair, twitches Jaskier’s mouth towards a smile. 

“Jaskier,” The brunette pulls his gaze from Geralt to Yennefer, fear welling as he expects Valdo to come through the door any moment, babysitting him until he can be claimed. “You’re safe here, if there’s anything you’re not comfortable with you can tell us and we won’t be upset. If there’s anything you need you can ask and there’s no expectations on our end. All of this is _freely_ given.” Yennefer speaks the words slowly, keeping her gaze focused solely on Jaskier so he might see her honesty. 

Jaskier hears her but the voice in his head reminds him these are Valdo’s people, he’s been coming to this bar long before they started dating, there’s no way they’re going to help him but he nods anyway, knowing it’s better to play along.

“I know you don’t believe me, that’s ok; it sounds too good to be true.” Jaskier braces himself, shifting forward on the couch, wondering if he can make it through the door before Geralt could reach him.

“What Marx did is unacceptable.” Geralt growls and Yennefer sighs at the interruption but the words seem to settle Jaskier a little. 

“It’s not that bad, really. I–” _Deserve it_. The words lodge under Jaskier’s bruised ribs, refusing to be spoken again. Yennefer nods and Jaskier is surprised to see understanding, not pity, in her eyes. 

“You don’t have to go back there tonight.” Yennefer starts, Marx was generous with the details of his life, regardless if anyone was interested, but that meant she knew they lived together. “We can get you a room at The Inn or Geralt has a spare room.” Geralt is grateful Jaskier is focused on Yennefer and misses the surprise that flashes across his face. He’s not opposed to Jaskier staying with him, if anything he would feel better knowing Jaskier is close and Marx wouldn’t be dumb enough to come to his house. Probably. 

“I don’t–” Jaskier starts, tone heavy with apology but Yennefer waves away his protests of not having money to pay for a room or being an imposition. 

“What would make you comfortable? Where would you feel _safe_?” It’s been so long since Jaskier felt safe he’s not even sure what the word means anymore but his eyes flick to Geralt subconsciously and it’s all the answer Yennefer needs. 

“You’ll be safe with Geralt, but,” Color blooms on Jaskier’s cheeks as shame washes through him, fear following closely behind. What must they think of him, obviously smitten with Geralt while he was Valdo’s boyfriend...would Valdo even take him back after this? Did he want him to? 

Too many thoughts threaten to overwhelm him, uncertainty making his breath stutter, his already tender ribs protesting. 

“Jaskier?” Jaskier hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes or how long he’d checked out, something Valdo hated. Blinking himself back to this moment he finds Yennefer has risen and is standing before an open locker, Geralt having moved as well and is now crouched before him, hand hovering over his knee as though he’s afraid to touch. 

Jaskier offers a weak smile, experience keeping his smart remarks tucked away. 

“Hmm.” Geralt rises without touching Jaskier and returns to his chair with a glance at Yennefer.

“Here, you’ll need this if you share a plan. You can leave yours here, we’ll lock it in the office but that way he won’t be able to track you.” Yennefer offers Jaskier a phone, it’s basic but clearly new, a label across the back has a number on it, what he assumes is the phone’s own number. “And these will get you through until we can get your own things back or get you some new.” With that Yennefer passes him a clear zipper pouch, generic toiletries tucked within. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier hates how small the words are, how they don’t come close to covering what Geralt did for him even before Yennefer started gifting the essentials. 

“It should get you through tonight and we’ll work on the rest tomorrow.” Jaskier nods, not wanting to think about the slew of impossibilities tomorrow brings. How he’s supposed to get his stuff back, where he’s supposed to go, how he’s going to afford a place on his own and on and on. 

Yennefer crosses to the desk, shooing Geralt out of the way she rummages before scribbling something on the unearthed piece of paper and offering it to him. “My number, call and I’ll be there. Or if you need anything.” With a nod to Geralt, Yennefer’s out the door, leaving Jaskier and Geralt, each uneasy in their own right. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With each step Jaskier’s body screams contradicting actions, men generally make him nervous and Geralt is considerably larger than Valdo but Jaskier can’t stop thinking about the way Geralt called him Jask after pulling Valdo off him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (read whole fic) wouldn't be what it is without my wonderful beta reader VeritasRose.

Jaskier leans back, digging his phone out of his pocket and Geralt forces himself to look away from the tantalizing strip of pale skin the motion reveals, disgusted with himself. Jaskier turns his phone over in his hand, there’s no numbers he needs, his relationship with Valdo had slowly replaced the few friendships he had, convincing Jaskier he was all he needed. Jaskier offers it to Geralt, the larger man’s movements slow and obvious as he reaches to take the phone, dropping it into the top desk drawer. 

“Do you,” Geralt starts seeming to rethink how he was going to finish. “Are you ready to go? Hungry?” Jaskier’s stomach is eating itself in hunger but Jaskier isn’t about to voice that particular shortcoming. 

“My guitar, it’s….” Jaskier gestures towards the direction he thinks the stage is in. 

“We can lock it in the office or Yenn will have to drive you. It won’t fit on Roach.” Geralt sounds apologetic.

“Roach?” Jaskier wants to take the question back as soon as he’s asked it, but the lashing he’s expecting doesn’t come, if anything Geralt looks embarrassed as he explains.

“My bike.” Jaskier laughs and Geralt realizes he’s never heard the sound before but he wants to hear it again and again, but as soon as it starts Jaskier cuts it off, seeming to catch himself. 

“Here...here’s fine.” Jaskier gets to his feet and is out the door with a haste that makes Geralt frown, by the time he steps to the door Jaskier has disappeared into the bar beyond, reappearing with a speed that seems nearly impossible with how crowded it is. His cheeks are flushed but he wields his guitar in one hand like an offering, the case dangling from his other as an afterthought, though there’s an expectation in his eyes that makes Geralt uneasy. 

“Anywhere will be fine, I”ll lock it behind us.” Geralt offers, making sure he stays in the hall, not wanting Jaskier to feel uncomfortable but he realizes his actions are foolish when he’s about to take him to his house where they’ll be more alone until morning. 

Jaskier sets the case on the couch, carefully laying his guitar within before he secures the latches and tucks it out of the way in the corner, reclaiming the phone and zippered pouch from where he’d left them. He moves to the door like he’s reporting and the image angers Geralt, this is learned, behavior instilled through repeated offenses. 

Jaskier follows Geralt further down the hall, out a door with a glowing EXIT sign above and onto a familiar back parking lot. Geralt turns when the door doesn’t fall closed behind them, turning he finds Jaskier’s body propping it open as his eyes dart around, searching the shadows for Marx.

“Eskel has been keeping watch, if Marx showed up we would’ve known.” Geralt stops himself from sharing that they would’ve known _after_ Lambert had a round with him. Jaskier nods and shifts just enough that the door starts to close, his hand twitching towards it before he forces it back to his side. 

“I swear to you Jaskier,” Jaskier tears his gaze from the darkened lot to Geralt. “You’re safe now. He’ll never lay another hand on you.” Geralt reassures. Jaskier nods and moves until he falls in step beside Geralt. 

With each step Jaskier’s body screams contradicting actions, men generally make him nervous and Geralt is considerably larger than Valdo but Jaskier can’t stop thinking about the way Geralt called him Jask after pulling Valdo off him. Geralt had approached him with caution, two simple words said with such conviction Jaskier felt their truth. 

Jaskier is confused when Geralt strides past the row of bikes to the car he’d been cowering beside an hour ago, he was fairly certain Geralt had said he rode his bike in. Geralt opens the trunk, a dark depth made even darker in the shadows cast from the lone streetlight and pulls from it a helmet. 

Geralt offers him a helmet, the same style only this is a simple charcoal grey, but Jaskier just looks from it to the row of bikes, fear returning to his eyes that Geralt can’t place. Geralt knew Marx had a bike and he’d seen Jaskier on it before but he still finds himself asking, “Ever worn one before?” 

“Yeah, but...um.” Jaskier swallows hard, turning the helmet over in his hands, giving one more glance to the motorcycles before he all but whispers the words. “I won’t...I won’t tip you?” Geralt narrows his eyes at Jaskier, wondering just how bad a driver Marx was if Jaskier was afraid that his slight weight on the back of the bike would tip them.

“Couldn’t if you tried. But if you’re not comfortable I’m sure Yenn–”

“No!” Jaskier clutches the helmet to him tighter, eyes widening as he expects a blow for his backtalk but Geralt gives the smallest smile and produces another helmet from the trunk’s depths. This one is black, the profile of a wolf’s head, jaws open etched in white on either side of the visor. 

Geralt closes the trunk and gives the parking lot a surreptitious scan as he heads for his bike where he opens the small case attached to the side, gesturing for Jaskier to store the zippered pouch within. Once it’s secured, Geralt mounts and steadies the bike before looking to Jaskier, waiting for him to get on behind him. Jaskier lingers, the helmet ready to be pulled on but he knows what follows and hates the fear that wells inside him.

Geralt waits patiently, his own helmet held in his hands as he turns that same gentle gaze on him, _Jask. You’re safe._ Jaskier pulls on the helmet, freeing his hands he awkwardly settles himself behind Geralt, gripping the bike seat rather than placing a balancing hand on Geralt’s shoulder. 

Jaskier flips the visor down, expecting Geralt to start the bike and go but they sit and the silence draws on but Geralt isn’t sure how to say it without upsetting Jaskier.

“You’ll fall off if you don’t hold on.” Geralt finally says over his shoulder.

“I’m holding on.” Jaskier tries, he knows he can’t ride like this, he knows he would look like a cartoon character the moment they started moving and he launched himself up and off. 

“You need to hold onto me.” The words are apologetic but it’s been so long that little more than the suggestion registers to Jaskier. He reaches his arms forward, angling to keep as much of his body from pressing into Geralt as he can and ends up with his hands fisted in the leather of Geralt’s jacket. 

Geralt figures it’s the best he can hope for and knows traffic will be light this time of night so if he goes a little slower there’ll be fewer people pissed off. 

The ride home is longer, the night passing in whole shapes rather than streaks of color at his normal pace but he’s attuned to the feel of Jaskier behind him, every shift and clench of his knees as they dig into his thighs. He wants to reassure Jaskier when the city gives way to back roads, trees and fields but there’s no way to without stopping and he has a feeling that will only scare Jaskier more. It doesn’t matter as all too soon he’s pulling into his garage. 

Jaskier is off the bike as soon as it comes to a stop but Geralt catches his look in time to stop the motion, turning it into him checking the kickstand’s positioning, something he’s done by feel for years but Jaskier doesn’t know that. Geralt keeps his movements slow and obvious, resting his helmet on the bike’s seat he opens the case and retrieves the essentials pack, exchanging it for Jaskier’s helmet. 

Geralt leads Jaskier to a side door, pulling a keyring from his pocket he deftly unlocks it while pressing the button to start the garage door closing. Geralt steps inside, flicking a light on as he steps to the side for Jaskier to enter, he leads the way from the mudroom, the kitchen cast in shadow but Geralt moves through it with ease, Jaskier following close behind as they cross into the living room.

The far wall is a bank of windows two stories high, the full moon setting illuminating the woods beyond the window and casting a soft glow over the furniture within. Jaskier doesn’t have much time to take it in as Geralt keeps moving to the staircase that divides the room, barely a glance over his shoulder to confirm he hasn’t lost his guest. 

The stairs lead to a partial second level, a low railing edges the balcony, allowing the viewer to see down into the living room or a picturesque view through the window. It’s here that Geralt flicks a light switch and Jaskier gets his first good view of Geralt’s house and it’s nothing like he expected the house of the owner of White Wolf would live.

Exposed wood beams break up the vaulted white ceiling, the floors a matching rich grey hardwood. Jaskier’s curiosity urges him to take a peek at the floor below but Geralt’s voice pulls his focus away from the balcony.

“This is my room,” He points to an open door, the room beyond darkened. “That’ll be your room and that’s the bathroom.” Geralt points to the door next to his and then a door on the far wall. 

“Thanks.” Jaskier ducks his head as he heads for “his” room, the label sounds strange even to him but that’s exactly what the room is, for the night at least. Jaskier opens the door, hand scrabbling along the wall before he finally finds the switch. 

The same grey hardwood floors are on this level, but an area rug warms the space at the foot of the bed, bracketed by matching nightstands, a lamp on one casts a warm glow in the room. There’s a dresser along the left wall and what Jaskier presumes to be a closet door just beyond it. 

“Did you–” Jaskier jumps at Geralt’s voice behind him, automatically ducking out of the way. “Sorry.” Geralt apologizes and Jaskier hates the honest regret in Geralt’s eyes rather than the pity he expected. 

“It’s not...just jumpy.” Jaskier flaps his hand to fill in the words he can’t bring himself to admit.

“If you wanted to take a shower there are towels in the bathroom closet.” Geralt awkwardly offers.

“Are you saying I smell?” Geralt can’t tell if Jaskier’s teasing or honestly asking and the silence draws on between them a beat too long for a joke to carry.

“Yenn claims the bar seeps into her very existence and the only cure is a hot shower.” Geralt settles on what he hopes is a neutral answer. Jaskier grins and Geralt earns his second laugh.

“A shower it is then, but I...don’t have any clothes.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn and Geralt sighs, realizing too late what he’d forgotten. 

“You can borrow some of mine and we can wash yours.” Geralt suggests.

“I don’t want to impose. More. You’ve already done so much.” Jaskier protests but Geralt waves his concerns off.

“You’re not an imposition, Jaskier. I’ll get you some clothes.” Geralt says before heading for his room. He grabs the smallest pair of sweatpants and shirt he has but he knows they’re going to be far too large on Jaskier still. 

The bathroom door is open and he watches an unguarded Jaskier line the small bar of soap and shampoo on the edge of the tub, a towel already sitting on the counter. Not wanting a repeat of earlier Geralt makes his steps loud, drawing Jaskier’s attention who straightens at his approach.

“If you just want to set your clothes outside the door I’ll put them in the wash, we can dry them in the morning.” Geralt offers the stack of clothes, making sure he stays firmly outside the bathroom door, not wanting Jaskier to feel trapped. Jaskier takes them with a murmured thanks and Geralt turns, heading for his own room as he hears the sound of the bathroom door shut behind him. 

Geralt takes a quick shower of his own, it’s not that he doesn’t trust Jaskier but he doesn’t like the idea of him needing something and Geralt being indisposed. 

Jaskier waits until Geralt’s footsteps fade before he cracks open the door, setting his clothes on the floor outside the door, second guessing what Geralt said, not wanting it to come off like he expected Geralt to do chores for him, those were his job. He closes the door once more, staring at it until the urge to open the door and reclaim his clothes passes. With a resolved sigh Jaskier locks the bathroom door, it’s a luxury Valdo never afforded him, locked doors were a sign Jaskier didn’t trust him, didn’t want him. 

The shower is easy enough to figure out and Jaskier gets lost in the warmth, soothing to his aching ribs. It also doesn’t hurt that the smell of bar and that disgusting cologne Valdo insisted he wear instead of his preferred one. Stepping out Jaskier shies away from the mirror that fills the wall above the sink, he doesn’t need a reminder of his failings. 

The pants Geralt gave him refuse to stay on his hips and he struggles to keep them up long enough to pull the strings tight enough, the cuffs pooling around his feet. The shirt is worn soft from washings, a spicy scent lingers under the smell of detergent that Jaskier thinks must be uniquely Geralt. 

Jaskier tidies the bathroom, drying the small bottles he replaces them in the zipper pouch before digging out the toothbrush and brushing his teeth. With one final check around the bathroom to make sure the only trace he’s been there is the folded towel on the counter Jaskier unlocks the door and heads for his room.

Geralt hears the door swing open above as he comes up the stairs and he stalls, debating if he should let Jaskier reach the spare room before he reaches the top but the stairs can be seen with a few steps toward the railing so he continues. 

Geralt isn’t prepared for the sight of Jaskier in his clothes, the sweatpants haven’t been cuffed up so only the tips of Jaskier’s toes can be seen, the shirt reaches halfway to his knees, the collar revealing the sharp points of his collar bone. Well worn converse dangle from his hand, the zipper pouch tucked under the same arm. 

“Sorry if I took too long.” Jaskier blurts into the silence and Geralt realizes he’s just been staring, his traitorous mind thinking how good Jaskier looks in his clothes.

“Don’t be sorry, there’s plenty of hot water.” Geralt finally gets out at a loss for what should come next. Jaskier glances to the door to his room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“The kitchen is downstairs, help yourself to anything if you’re hungry. If you need anything that’s my room.” Jaskier’s mouth twitches and Geralt feels foolish, there were three doors on this floor, of course Jaskier remembered which went where. 

Jaskier nods, making it as far as the doorway before he turns back, his eyes not making it past Geralt’s shoulders, “Thank you. For...everything.” His eyes flick up, meeting Geralt’s for the briefest of moments before he turns quickly, stepping into the room.

Geralt steps into his own room, leaving the door open behind him he snags his blinking phone from the dresser, a message from Yennefer waiting for him.

Yenn

_Don’t fuck this up._

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t bother responding, abandoning his phone on the dresser Geralt slips into bed, but sleep eludes him and in the silence of the night Geralt hears Jaskier’s door close, the soft click of the handle lock resounding in Geralt’s ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want to leave a comment, you know you do. 
> 
> Also, find me on the tumbles at Process-Pending


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You won’t be going alone. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Geralt fears with how often he’s repeating these words they’re losing their power but if anything Jaskier seems to believe in them a little more each time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a major thank you to VeritasRose, my wonderful beta reader and friend who makes this story infinitely better!

Jaskier doesn’t know when sleep claimed him but the unfamiliar room when he wakes sends a cold wave of fear through him, how drunk had he gotten? Surely Valdo had noticed he didn’t come home and is going to be _pissed._

Jaskier bolts up, the sheets tangling around his legs, sending him to the floor in an uncoordinated heap. Grey hardwood floor. _Geralt_. Jaskier’s head drops back to the floor, cool against his heated cheek, he was safe. 

_Safe_.

That word didn’t come easy to Jaskier but there it was, a feeling that eased the fervor that insisted he keep moving, that had tensed his muscles. 

“Jaskier, are you...ok?” Jaskier’s head snaps up, waiting for Geralt to try opening the door only to find it locked, but the handle doesn’t so much as twist. 

“Ffffine. I’m fine! Just...fell.” Jaskier calls as he untwists the sheet from his legs. 

“I’ll start breakfast, come down whenever you’re ready. Your clothes are outside the door.” Geralt’s footsteps aren’t as loud as the night before so he waits, counting out a minute in his head before he unlocks the door and opens it. True to his word, Jaskier’s clothes are clean and neatly folded, the phone Yennefer had given him nestled on top, he’d forgotten all about it last night. 

Jaskier collects his clothes, shutting the door behind him once more he sets about getting ready for the day. In under five minutes Jaskier has redressed, remade the bed and placed his borrowed clothes, now neatly folded, on the foot of it. He heads to the bathroom and it’s only as he’s brushing his teeth does he think to turn the phone on, having no idea what time it is other than day by the sunlight filling the house.

The phone boots up with a happy chirp and by the time Jaskier is dropping the zipper pouch off in his room it’s ready to use. White numbers reading 10:24 are stark against a generic background. _Hours_ he’d been asleep and for how many of those had Geralt been up and waiting for him to make his presence known? 

Giving a final look around the room, Jaskier deems it presentable and steps out onto the balcony, taking in the house now filled with daylight. Jaskier tries not to gape as he walks down the stairs, the night having hidden the gorgeous stone fireplace tucked against the right wall, a plush couch and deep chairs arranged to give people a perfect view out the windows while enjoying the warmth from the fire. The far left wall is built-in bookcases, a ladder that looks like it’s made from industrial pipes leans on a rail before them, allowing anyone brave enough to climb it access to the upper shelves. 

The kitchen is easy to see from the bottom of the stairs, the doorway straight ahead revealing part of an island counter and beyond it a matching counter running the length of the wall. There’s sounds of a fridge door closing as Geralt steps into view from the left, a glass pitcher in his hands, turning to look at Jaskier as though he knew he’d be there.

Geralt gives what he hopes is a welcoming nod. He’s not naive enough to believe a shower and a bed for the night will be enough to convince Jaskier he’s safe, that he can trust them; it’s not been enough in the past. 

Jaskier steps into the kitchen, the tantalizing smell of breakfast filling the room and Geralt at the stove, spatula in hand turns. “Grab a seat.” Jaskier slides onto one of the stools at the island where an empty glass and fork wait. 

“Orange juice? Milk?” Geralt asks, setting a plate filled with food before him. 

“Water?” Jaskier asks, grateful when Geralt doesn’t question but takes his glass and turns to the sink, filling it before resetting it and turning to the stove. Jaskier stares at his plate, it looks as good as it smells, a ham omelette covered in cheese beside a pile of cubed potatoes, chunks of grilled peppers mixed in. His mouth waters, he can practically taste it but his hand knows what’s better for him and picks up his water instead, draining half the glass in two large swallows. 

“If you want something else?” Geralt offers and Jaskier fumbles the glass, the sound loud against the stone countertop. 

“Oh, no! This is fine, _really_. I’m just not–” Jaskier’s refusal is belied by his stomach growling, he tenses his muscles to muffle the sound but it’s too late, Geralt’s heard and raises an eyebrow in question. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want.” Geralt tries but somehow the words have the opposite intended effect as Jaskier closes off, picking up the fork he starts to mechanically eat. The food is delicious but it barely registers as Jaskier’s mind races ahead, trying to figure out the game.

“Jaskier.” The fork clatters to this plate at Geralt’s touch on his wrist, Jaskier wrenching back. Wide blue eyes focus on Geralt, coughing as he fights to swallow his mouthful. Geralt’s hand is gone and he’s leaning back against the opposite counter, leaving Jaskier free to gulp down his remaining water.

“Sorry.” Jaskier offers weakly, putting more focus in replacing his now empty glass than necessary. Geralt debates calling Yennefer, knowing her first words will be, “Didn’t I tell you not to fuck this up?” but following that she would know what to do. Probably. 

“You’re fine, Jask. You don’t–” Geralt catches himself, not wanting to trigger Jaskier again. Jaskier, looking so small and lost, gives Geralt dejavu of a night five years ago and he knows what to do. 

“You’re safe Jask. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ok?” Jaskier’s nod is jerky but the tension holding him stiff eases and he looks more present. 

“Do you want to eat anymore?” Jaskier struggles to align the rugged bar owner that scowls from the corner most nights with the man before him, clearly trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. Jaskier takes a breath, he can do this.

“No, I’m sorry.” Jaskier looks at the plate, he’d gotten half down and his stomach is already cramping painfully, unused to being so filled. “It was good.” He smiles and Geralt thinks he means it. Straightening from his lean, Geralt slowly removes the plate from before Jaskier, refilling his glass at the sink before replacing it.

Geralt sets to cleaning the breakfast dishes, his back to Jaskier who turns his glass in slow circles where it rests on the counter before him. He shouldn’t waste any more of Geralt’s day, the clock on the stove telling him he’s lost another hour. 

“I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. I won’t take any more of your time if you wouldn’t mind taking me back to the White Wolf I’ll get my guitar and be on my way.” Geralt is grateful he’s facing away from Jaskier as he knows he’s making what Ciri calls his scary face and takes a steadying breath before turning around.

“I’ll take you to get your guitar but you don’t have to go back to Marx.” This is the hardest part, convincing the person they’re trying to help that it’s possible. This is the part Yenn usually does. 

“I know, but it’s fine, really. I–” Jaskier’s argument sounds weak even to himself.

“It’s not Jaskier. He _hit_ you. That’s not ok.” Geralt growls. 

“I know.” Jaskier admits the words to his water glass and something breaks inside Geralt. 

Geralt thinks back to the first time he did this and how it started. “Do you want to leave Marx?”

“I’m fairly certain him leaving without me last night means we’re over.” Jaskier tries to laugh but it’s strangled, he hates that it hurts. He’s been with Valdo for nearly a year and dreamt of leaving for months and now the moments finally here and he should be happy but instead uncertainty threatens to paralyze him. 

“That’s not the same thing. What do _you_ want?” There’s that damn question again and Jaskier’s traitorous brain unhelpfully supplies, _you,_ but the word knocks against the gate of his teeth. 

“I want out.” Geralt would think he’s imagined the words if he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s lips move.

“Then you’re out. We’ll get your stuff and–Jaskier breathe.” The thought of going back to that apartment, of facing Valdo’s anger white’s out Jaskier’s vision, his breaths coming too fast as he thinks of just how he’ll pay for Valdo being embarrassed last night. 

“Jask, you’re safe.” Jaskier isn’t sure how many times Geralt has repeated the words but his breaths come easier, Geralt’s golden eyes worriedly searching his face. 

“I can’t...I can’t...go–” Jaskier pants the words, his chest still tight. Geralt nudges his glass closer, Jaskier reaching for it automatically, obediently taking sips and Geralt hates that he tricks him this way but Jaskier’s breaths slow with each sip. 

“You won’t be going alone. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Geralt fears with how often he’s repeating these words they’re losing their power but if anything Jaskier seems to believe in them a little more each time. 

“Valdo will be there, he won’t,” Jaskier hesitates, struggling to give voice to the feeling welling inside him. 

“He won’t hurt me.” Jaskier felt a little silly, it was clear that Geralt could handle himself and even though Jaskier still worried he just nodded, accepting. Geralt looks like he’s going to say more but his phone jitters across the counter, the reluctance clear as Geralt moves to answer it. 

“We need to go, now.” Geralt says, frowning down at his phone and Jaskier doesn’t register the words are at him, are _about_ him until golden eyes settle on him expectantly.

“Go? Like _go?_ ” Geralt looks at Jaskier like he fears the brunette has sustained a head injury, his response a slow coming, “Yes.” 

“I...um...shoes. Just let me grab shoes.” Jaskier’s dismount from the stool is closer to a fall than intention as he scrambles back through the living room and up the stairs, silently cursing himself for not having put them on when he’d gotten dressed. 

Jaskier drops to the floor, yanking on his converse before he pushes back to his feet, his eyes falling on the phone Yennefer had given him, a tiny light blinking. He knows Geralt is waiting but he finds himself picking up the phone and swiping the screen awake. 

206-633-7380

_You’ll be fine._

Jaskier wonders if Yennefer gave him a Magic 8 ball disguised as a phone but there’s another message from the same number.

_Make it through this and I’ll make you a Toasted Almond._

The second message doesn’t clear anything up and Geralt is waiting so Jaskier slips the phone into his pocket and gives the room one final look but finding nothing amiss he turns the light off and leaves. 

Geralt is waiting in the kitchen, clearly ready to go and waiting on Jaskier as he’s already donned his leather jacket. “Sorry.” Jaskier apologizes and Geralt frowns before he heads through a door next to the refrigerator and into the mudroom from the night before. 

A slew of apologies threaten to spill out but Jaskier holds his tongue, Valdo hates Jaskier’s ceaseless ramblings and Jaskier doesn't blame him but he can’t stop himself when Geralt strides to his motorcycle. “I...um...I don’t have much and it’s not that I’m not grateful for your help but it won’t fit.” 

Geralt gives Jaskier a smile he’s never seen before, the man looks almost giddy but all he says is, “We aren’t going alone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for such lovely comments! They brighten my day and I love hearing your thoughts.   
> Next update should be Saturday. Until then, stay safe and have a great week.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there anything else? There’s no rush.” The last was a lie, Geralt knew the clock was ticking and if Marx’s behavior was anything to go by they had less rather than more. 

Anxiety rises in Jaskier the further they get from Geralt’s house and back into the city, by the time they reach his apartment Jaskier is grateful for the helmet as it means Geralt can’t hear his hitching breaths. 

Jaskier scans the parking lot for Valdo’s car, but its absence from the usual parking place calms him a little, maybe Valdo isn't here. A truck is backed up in the no parking zone in front of the walkway and when Geralt and Jaskier approach they find Lambert leaning against the side of the truck, Eskel wrangling a tape gun next to a pile of boxes ready to be filled. 

“You could be helping.” Eskel grumbles, starting to fold the flaps together for another box bottom. 

“I am helping. I brought the truck and the boxes.” Lambert argues, making no motion towards the collapsed boxes or the spare tape gun lying next to them.

“Jaskier, this is Lambert and Eskel.” Geralt gestures to each in turn, Eskel giving Jaskier a small smile that Jaskier returns and he tries not to shy away from the look Lambert levels at him, the smile softening when Eskel elbows him. 

“You’re from the White Wolf. Not, not _from_ but I’ve–” Jaskier silences his ramblings with an audible clack of his teeth, head dropping so he misses the glances shared between the three larger men.

“Yeah, we work there.” Eskel offers and Jaskier nods his head but doesn’t fully raise it. Eskel, Lambert and Geralt are all at a loss for what to do, Geralt the only one with an inkling of what’s behind Jaskier’s odd behavior but that will have to wait. 

“We clear?” Geralt asks, his gaze on the building they’re standing before.

“Yeah, sent word as soon as he set out.” Eskel had been watching the apartment since early this morning, hoping Marx would leave and he finally did, giving them a chance to get Jaskier’s stuff back with less resistance. 

Gathering four of the boxes, Geralt turns expectantly to Jaskier. “Which one is yours?” 

Jaskier gives one final look around the parking lot, turning over what Eskel said and the absence of Valdo’s car before he turns and starts up the short walk to the building. Turning back suddenly he nearly crashes into Geralt, mumbling an apology he leans around him and looks at Eskel who’s still working at taping boxes together.

“Um, I don’t...I don’t need...more.” Jaskier’s tone is apologetic but Eskel has experience and his expression is open.

“You’re off the hook this time Lambert.” It’s only when Jaskier has turned back that Eskel’s easy smile falls, how little does he have that it will fit within four boxes?

Jaskier falters before the door, he hadn’t taken his keys or wallet with him, he’d gotten so used to not carrying them, Valdo saying they ruined the line of his pants. He stretches up on his toes, fingers dragging along the top of the door frame, searching for the spare key he’d tucked there shortly after moving in. 

Jaskier’s shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin and the top of his boxers, jeans riding low on his hips. It’s only when Jaskier drops back, key in hand that Geralt is able to tear his eyes away, hoping Jaskier didn’t notice but the successful grin on his face tells him his gaze went unnoticed. 

The door opens and Jaskier barely makes it over the jamb before he stops, the place is trashed. Everything once contained by the bookcase is on the floor, joined by the couch cushions and coffee table contents. 

“It’s not, I don’t normally…” Jaskier’s cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“It’s better he did this here than to you.” Geralt reasons and Jaskier nods, taking two of the boxes from Geralt he heads down the hall to what Geralt finds is the bedroom. Hate burning through him as he takes in the space where Jaskier slept next to a man that thought striking him was acceptable. 

When he can stand it no longer Geralt leaves the empty boxes against the hall wall and returns to the living room. 

Jaskier moves quickly, sifting through his clothes scattered around the floor, his mind already racing ahead to the other things he needs to grab when he turns and finds himself alone.

“ _Geralt_!” The sound of his name in Jaskier’s panicked voice has Geralt down the hall and into the bedroom, eyes scanning the space but he finds only Jaskier. 

“Sorry, I just, you were gone and I–” Jaskier hates how needy he sounds.

“It’s fine, Jaskier. I promised you would be safe and I meant it.” Geralt moves so he’s leaning in the door frame, giving him a good view of Jaskier and the front door, in which Eskel is standing, looking around having heard the yell. Catching his eye, Geralt shakes his head, giving him the all clear. 

Jaskier folds the box closed, he knows he’s probably missed clothes but he honestly doesn’t want to spend more time scrounging around on the floor, he wants to get his things and get out. Seeing the box full, Geralt takes it from him, “I’ll be right back, but I’m not leaving, ok.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to nod before he heads down the hall, Eskel and Lambert standing in the living room, looking around at the trashed space.

“Any of this going?” Lambert eyes the space and it’s only the years they’ve known each other that Geralt can see the unease in his eyes, he knows what’s coming and wants to be ready to go when it arrives. Geralt looks around the room and hates that he can’t pick out what belongs to Jaskier and what doesn’t. 

“I’m not sure, I’ll ask.” Lambert nods as he takes the box from Geralt and heads for the door. Geralt starting back down the hall when Eskel’s words give him pause.

“We’re covered.” Those are the words Geralt has been waiting for. They’ve never given him reason to doubt before but knowing there’s an extra layer of protection for Jaskier eases the tension that’d been coiling in him. Continuing back down the short hall Geralt intends to ask Jaskier if they need to start loading any furniture only to find an empty bedroom. 

The muffled sound of someone choking back tears draws him further down the hall to the next door, he trusts that Eskel saw Marx leave but something has clearly distressed Jaskier. Standing in what looks like an office Geralt takes in Jaskier on his knees holding a broken acoustic guitar, one hand pressed to his mouth

“Jaskier?” Jaskier jumps, the guitar making a dull thud on the carpet when it startles from his grip, both hands swiping roughly at his eyes.

“Sorry. Probably think I’m ridiculous, crying over a guitar.” Jaskier tries for light as he shifts, dragging an empty box closer.

“No, it’s important to you?” Geralt hates that it sounds like a question, obviously it’s important to him or he wouldn’t be upset by its destruction. Jaskier pivots to the bookcase, pulling out the lower shelf of books he removes cheap composition notebooks by the handful from where they’d been pressed flush against the back. Geralt can tell they’ve been filled, the edges worn and pages wavy from ink. 

Jaskier repeats the process for the next shelf, before folding that box closed as well and pushing to his feet. “I’ll get it.” Geralt offers when Jaskier starts to pick up the box. 

“Just a few more things and that’ll be it.” Jaskier says and surprises Geralt when he pauses in the door, addressing the door jamb as he's unable to bring himself to look at Geralt, "It was my mother’s.” With that he’s back down the hall, the scuff of a box being picked up the only indication of the direction he’s gone.

Geralt stares at the guitar for a long moment before gently collecting the body and neck, not sure why he feels the need but he can’t bear the thought of Jaskier leaving this behind and regretting it.

“In the cab and to my house. Not a word to Jaskier about it.” Geralt says to Eskel as he hands it off and Eskel gives him a look that raises color on Geralt’s cheeks but he doesn't press. Geralt is back in the spare room collecting the box of notebooks when he hears him, Valdo Marx.

“Jaskier!” Valdo roars. “Hiding like the pussy you are! Did you suck their cocks? Get down on your knees–” Geralt nearly tackles Jaskier in the hall, blue eyes wide with fear as he stares at the door through which Marx’s muffled taunts can still be heard; Geralt a little surprised no one’s shut him up yet.

“You’re safe Jask, he’s not getting in here and he’s not getting near you.” Geralt keeps his tone steady even as Marx’s grows louder. 

Eskel is there, easing the box from Geralt’s hands. “It’s true, he’s not getting through that door and even if he somehow manages that, he’s not getting through either of us.” Eskel has always appreciated that Jaskier looked into his eyes and not at the scar twisting a large part of his face and he hopes as Jaskier meets his eyes now that he can see the honesty in them. 

“Is there anything else? There’s no rush.” The last was a lie, Geralt knew the clock was ticking and if Marx’s behavior was anything to go by they had less rather than more. 

“No,” Jaskier hesitates, his eyes looking past Geralt at the door Eskel opened, Marx’s shout momentarily louder. “There’s just–” Jaskier turns and grabs up the satchel he’d dropped in his shock at hearing Valdo’s voice and settles it across his body before following Geralt down the hall, his steps growing heavier and more reluctant the closer they get to the door. He knows this will be the last he’ll have to endure of Valdo but his body is already trembling with memories and he thinks he might be sick.

Geralt turns to him before opening the door, finding the young man so pale and trembling he thinks he may have to situate him in Lambert’s truck and see about Lambert taking his bike. “Jaskier.” 

“I’m safe.” Jaskier whispers the words, a hard swallow tucking them back down inside him but he meets Geralt’s eyes with a resolve that says he believes them. 

Jaskier is not prepared for the scene that greets him when Geralt opens the door and steps out. Extending from his door across the hall and down either side of the walkway all the way to Geralt’s motorcycle are bikers, their black leathers too unmistakable to be anything else. Their faces impassive to the vile Valdo is still spewing as he rages behind the line closest to the door.

Jaskier falters one step out the door, Valdo taking the opportunity to make one final dig. “Think your precious Witcher will want you after he finds out what used up filth you are? Once he gets a good look at you he’ll be begging me to take you back.” 

It’s the subtlest shift, Jaskier doubts anyone but him notices, but it draws his attention to Eskel who’s standing to the left of the door, not paying any attention to the line of bikers standing casually to his left, blocking Valdo. He nods, it’s a small thing but it’s the reassurance Jaskier needs to turn and fall back in step behind Geralt, catching Lambert moving from where he’d been leaning against the wall to the right of the door frame falling in step behind him as well. 

Geralt hands Jaskier his helmet but resists when Jaskier goes to take it from his hands, waiting until blue eyes meet golden before he nods back towards the building. “Take one last look, Jaskier.” And so he does, turning he sees no less than thirty people in their leather jackets lining the way. “All of us between you and Marx. He’ll never touch you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for your lovely comments! Seriously, they make me so happy and I read them again and again. They weaken my resolve to not upload all the chapters at once.
> 
> Which, if you noticed, we have a final chapter count. That's because I wrote the final chapter yesterday. That's right, this fic is done! 41 days to write 41 chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier. Please tell me you at least remember the name of the man that slept at your house last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how awesome my friend and beta reader VeritasRose is? This fic wouldn't be what it is without her.

Jaskier looks around what’s to be his new residence, the small one bedroom apartment was gratefully pre-furnished as his four boxes and amp stacked along the hall look less pitiful. Eskel had followed them even though it was obvious they wouldn’t need help unloading Lambert’s truck but it seemed he had an ulterior motive as he gave Jaskier a scrap of paper with his phone number on it, Lambert blustering at the gesture harassed Eskel for a pen so he could add his own number to the back as Eskel instructed Jaskier, “If you need anything. Anytime.” Jaskier had nodded, doubting he would use it but he liked the reassurance it brought.

“I really can’t thank you enough.” Jaskier says for the umpteenth time but Geralt hears the subtle difference in this one and waits instead of reassuring like he’d done each time before. “But I can’t. I can’t afford this place.” Jaskier picked up gigs where he could but even with his part time job as a museum docent he knew there was no way he could afford rent.

That was another thing he hadn't considered, how he was going to get to work without a vehicle since Valdo always drove him. Fuck.

Geralt frowns as he watches Jaskier get even more distressed. The offer to waive rent is tempting but he doesn't think Jaskier would take kindly to the idea and even he knows it isn't sustainable. 

"Play for the White Wolf." Geralt offers, something he's thought of since Jaskier first played. Marx had been insistent that Jaskier not be “tied down”, claiming Jaskier could drop in when he didn’t have other gigs, even though Jaskier played often enough Geralt wondered if there actually were any other shows. 

Jaskier liked playing at the bar and people seemed to like him, or at least didn’t throw food at him if they didn’t, so that was better than half the places Valdo got him into. And the museum closed at–

“What time is it?” Jaskier blurts, frantically digging in his pocket for his phone. “Cock! Shit! I’m late.” Jaskier drops to his knees before one of the boxes, ripping it open he finds composition notebooks and tears into the next one.

“Late?” Geralt's surprise at his outburst turning to concern at Jaskier’s mounting distress. 

“To work. I’m supposed to be there at 3.” Seeming to find acceptable clothes Jaskier shoves to his knees, thumbing through his phone with another mumbled curse. 

Geralt tries to ignore the prick of hurt when he sees Jaskier hurriedly trying to download the Uber app, why wouldn’t he just ask? But Geralt thinks over the past twenty-four hours and how Jaskier had alternated between apologizing and appreciating. 

“I can give you a ride.” Jaskier’s head snaps up, a polite decline at the ready but Geralt heads it off. “We need to go though so,” he gestures to the clothes Jaskier is still holding. Jaskier can’t risk being late to work again, the visitors like him even more than his boss but he knows they can only afford him so much leeway. 

“Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.” Jaskier rushes down the hall, there’s only two doors, a bathroom and the bedroom and either will work. Geralt tries not to think how empty this place looks, how Jaskier’s four boxes are little more than notebooks and clothes and tonight how much emptier it will feel.

“I just have to grab…” Jaskier reappears rummaging through the satchel he’d dumped onto the table, jamming his wallet in his pocket he turns to Geralt who can’t help but raise his eyebrows.

When Jaskier said he had a job Geralt had assumed he was a stocker or maybe line worker at a restaurant, he did not expect this. Jaskier is dressed similar as he was moments before, skinny jeans though these have no holes, converse, but the biggest change is a fluorescent shirt with _City Museum_ written in festive scrip across its front. 

“I’m a Wrangler. Though it’s probably only because I can follow the kids through the tunnels.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn as he thinks how he just implied he was extra on the bendy scale.

Each time Jaskier gets on Geralt’s bike he eases a little, something Geralt is especially grateful for as the roads are crowded. Jaskier isn’t leaning as far away as he can, though he isn’t flush against Geralt’s back either and his hands are still clutching fistfuls of his jacket rather than him but Geralt doesn’t fear they’re going to tip nearly as often this ride. 

Jaskier practically jumps off the bike, not sure if he’s already late and debating whether running to catch up with the group of students heading in will be a believable excuse that he _was_ on time, just got caught up helping them. 

“Thank you for the ride and everything. I really appreciate it.” Jaskier looks at a loss for what to do with his borrowed helmet, but Geralt just holds out his hand and Jaskier passes it over. With a final thanks Jaskier turns and starts jogging across the extra wide sidewalk that runs in front of the museum. Geralt lingers long enough to see this side of Jaskier, his entire body animated and open as he talks to the kids, whatever he says earning a loud cheer from them as they rearrange themselves to follow him in.

o~O~o

“How’s our cub doing?” Yennefer asks, having contained herself for Geralt to make it all of two steps into the White Wolf. Geralt just frowns at her, how would he know how Ciri was doing? There wasn’t anything going on at her school he was supposed to go to. Unless she’d forgotten to tell him something. Again.

“Jaskier. Please tell me you at least remember the name of the man that slept at your house last night.” Geralt’s dark glare has Yennefer looking chastised. She knew Geralt liked Jaskier, could see it in the way he watched the musician play and didn't growl when Jaskier was in a rare talkative mood with Geralt for a captive audience, but she also knew how damaging those kinds of jokes could be.

Geralt heads back to the office, he hates this side of things but the work needs to be done and it’s nearly impossible once the night crowd starts filtering in. It’s only hours later when Yennefer leans against his doorway that he looks up.

“Is Jaskier playing here tonight? Or at least coming back for his guitar?” It’s what passes for an apology from Yennefer and Geralt knows it won’t do any good for him to be petty back. 

“I offered him to play here to help pay for the apartment but he was late to–” Geralt scrambles for his phone, “What time does the City Museum close?” Geralt taps open his messages only to realize he never got the number from Jaskier’s phone. They keep them on file, but that’s for emergencies, Jaskier should give this number to those he trusts and it’s with a sinking feeling that Geralt understands he’s not among them. 

Yennefer’s expression is bored when she says, “They close at ten but he’s off at seven.” The hand Geralt had been scrubbing down his face drops at her words, pinning her with his stare but her bored demeanor holds. “I texted him, asked him how he was doing. Talking, Geralt, it’s what people do.” 

Geralt is standing and pulling his leather jacket from the back of the chair before he’d fully made up his conscious mind, if he left now he could make it to the museum just in time for Jaskier's shift to end. Geralt squeezes past Yennefer who refuses to alter her position leaning against the door frame and it's only when he's past does her mouth curl into a knowing smile. 

It doesn't occur to Geralt until he's on his way that Jaskier might not need a ride from him. He hadn’t given any indication he would pick Jaskier up and he didn’t exactly have his number to offer but Geralt doesn’t turn down any of the streets that will lead him back to the White Wolf. He'll wait until Jaskier tells him he has alternate transportation or Yennefer deems the joke has gone on long enough and texted him that Jaskier made it home as she would undoubtedly know.

Fully recognizing it's not technically a parking pot but not really caring either, Geralt parks in the same place he’d dropped Jaskier off. He pulls out his phone, hoping Yennefer might still feel bad enough about her earlier quip that she’d take pity on him and is surprised to find a message waiting from her. 

_Yenn_

206-374-6215

_Don’t get in the way of yourself._

Geralt sighs at the message before tucking his phone away, studying the doors for a moment, searching for any fluorescent shirts before turning his attention to the parking lot, car's headlights dotting the space in the growing dusk. Geralt goes cold with the realization Marx could be here, tucked among the cars, knowing when Jaskier gets off and is just waiting for him to leave. 

Geralt pulls out his phone, hurriedly starting a new message to the sender. 

_I’m outside._

The phone is back in his pocket as he steps off his bike, staring harder into the parking lot, trying to remember what Marx drives, debating whether he should call Lambert who would surely know.

It’s 7:19 and Jaskier is nowhere to be found. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for your lovely comments. Seriously I love hearing what you think of this!
> 
> Come find me on the tumbles @process-pending


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier knows he needs to make a plan, plans are how he’s survived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my dear friend (and beta reader) VeritasRose!

Jaskier isn’t proud he’s spent the last hour of his shift trying to talk himself into asking someone from security to walk him out. In the end he knew it wouldn’t matter if security walked him out, he was still walking back to his new apartment and Valdo would just wait until he was off museum grounds. Jaskier was not proud of the seven minutes he spent hiding in the bathroom trying to collect himself enough he wouldn’t cry in front of the kids after that thought. 

Jaskier is scanning the parking lot, the Uber app open on his phone when a new text comes in.

206-374-7326

_I’m outside._

Jaskier’s hands are shaking so bad he nearly drops the phone, if he had anything in his stomach he’s certain he would puke but his stomach is empty and acid burns his throat. He really couldn’t afford an Uber but there’s no way he can walk home, not with Valdo outside. 

A new wave of dread washes over Jaskier when he realizes he doesn’t know the address of his apartment, he can’t even get close since he’s more of a landmark person than street names. Jaskier’s hands are trembling too hard and he knows he’s drawing attention from his coworkers, huddled against the wall, tapping frantically at his phone as he tries to move the map app around so he can guess at his street address.

“Jaskier?” He’s not proud of the hiss that escapes or the way he jerks back but what he hates most is the way Geralt backs away from him when he’s the only thing that will make him feel safe right now. 

Jaskier’s cheeks burn as he feels eyes on him, wondering what his problem is but his mind keeps turning over those two words and he needs to tell Geralt because Geralt will fix things. Geralt will _protect_ him. 

“He’s here.” Jaskier looks out the door again but it’s so much harder with night having fallen, the bright reflections inside tangling into an indecipherable kaleidoscope. Geralt doesn’t physically do anything but somehow he looks infinitely more intimidating to Jaskier at the words.

“Is everything ok?” Jaskier turns to the voice, unsurprised to find Macee eyeing Geralt like she’s going to tackle him at the first indication he’s the cause of Jaskier’s distress. Something Jaskier finds far too amusing considering Macee isn’t even a whole five feet tall and weighs about ninety pounds soaking wet where Geralt looks every inch of biker from his heavy black boots, to his leather jacket and long white hair. The only potentially soft thing about the man is his hair done up in a half ponytail and even that somehow makes him look more like a warrior. 

“We’re fine, Macee.” Jaskier gives a weak smile and tries to wave her concern away but his hand is still shaking and the gesture only serves to highlight his unease. “Just gave me a fright is all.” Macee’s eyes narrow at Geralt who has the audacity to look amused at her feistiness. 

“Before you go, did you remember to lock the red tunnel?” Macee asks their casual help code calmly, but Geralt doesn’t doubt that she’d be on him in a second if he so much as blinked wrong at Jaskier.

“I did, _really_. Thank you.” Jaskier reassures and Macee gives him a quick hug, more territorial than affection before she disappears back into the eclectic museum. 

Geralt doesn’t want to bring it up, really he could go the rest of his days never hearing that man’s name again and die happy but it seems today won’t be the start of the rest of his days. “Marx is here?” 

Whatever reassurance Macee’s presence had brought back to Jaskier disappears at Geralt’s words, his grip tightening on his phone so hard his knuckles blanche as he bites out. “He texted. Said he was outside.”

Geralt’s face does something Jaskier doesn’t understand. “What...what did it say.” The anger in Geralt’s tone sets Jaskier’s hands quaking again as he fumbles back to his messages. 

“I’m outside.” If Jaskier had raised his head he would have seen Geralt’s facade falter, seen his golden eyes slowly blink as he realizes the fear he’s caused, but he doesn’t look up and sees none of this.

“That was me. Yenn gave me your number.” Geralt thought admitting it would be the hard part but the absolute relief that washes over Jaskier is so much worse. The tight coil of his body eases and he no longer looks one loud noise away from bolting. 

“I should’ve known.” Jaskier mutters to himself, shaking his head slightly. Of course there was no way Valdo would have gotten this number, not after all the trouble Geralt and Yennefer and all those others that had literally stood between him and Valdo. Jaskier feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment, what must Geralt think of him? Not only had he been nice enough to think about taking Jaskier home but he had been outside for who knows how long, waiting for Jaskier to show up.

“I’m really sorry. If it’s not too much trouble could I get a ride?” Jaskier doesn’t give Geralt a chance to respond before he’s rushing on, jamming his hand in his pocket for his phone as he says, “Or I can call an Uber. Really it’s no problem, you probably have things to do. I’ll just call an Uber. If you could just tell me the address of the apartment?” Jaskier dares to glance up from where he’s opened the app once more, Geralt looking pained and Jaskier doesn’t know what he’s done.

“It’s no trouble, I’ll give you a ride.” Geralt manages to finally get out, 

Jaskier still feels shaky, fear and lack of food replacing the relief he’d felt at Geralt’s words, but forces his legs to carry him as he follows Geralt out the door, his motorcycle parked along the curb. 

The ride back to Jaskier’s apartment is silent as it usually is but this silence carries a weight Geralt is helpless to fix. 

Geralt drops Jaskier off at his apartment, wanting to apologize for scaring him, explain the anger wasn’t meant for him but for Marx but he’s not sure what to say and worries more words will damage things further. 

Jaskier lingers by the bike as he hands Geralt the helmet, watching him thread it on his arm, not wanting him to leave yet. “Thanks again, I swear I’ll learn my address so you won’t have to pin a note to me.” Jaskier wishes Geralt’s visor weren’t just mirroring his own reflection, a shameful reminder of how needy he’s being. 

“Right. Have a good night.” If Jaskier had turned back at any point he would have seen Geralt waiting, watching him punch in the four digit code into the keypad that locks the outer door, waiting to leave until he sees Jaskier unlock the first door on the right and slip inside. 

The apartment feels larger in the night than it did in the day, or maybe it’s just because this is the first time he’s alone in it. Jaskier knows he needs to make a plan, plans are how he’s survived. He starts in the kitchen, opening every cabinet, surprised to find a modest set of dishes, basic silverware and cooking utensils; there’s even cleaning supplies under the sink. It feels like those AirBnB’s Jaskier is always seeing online– _Just add people and your stay is set!_

Jaskier nods to himself, he wouldn’t have to worry about scrounging for dishes, he would scrub everything down tomorrow, tonight he should see about sorting his boxes.

The kitchen and living room spaces are defined by the end of linoleum and the start of carpeting, the front door being the dividing line. The living room is small, a couch bracketed by bookends shares the wall with the hallway, giving anyone sitting a good look at the front door, there’s a coffee table before the couch and windows he’s sure looks out onto the parking lot if he cared to open the drapes. 

There’s a short two-shelf bookcase across from the couch, perfect for a TV but in lieu of that Jaskier drags his box of composition books over and begins lining them up. He finds himself flipping through some of them, eyes skimming familiar lyrics and some he’s forgotten, mind jumping at those, trying to build them into new works. By the time he’s done the books fill the top shelf and part of the second, those he angles so they’ll stop tipping over but there’s something nice about seeing them out in the open. 

The next box is his clothes so he heads back to the bedroom. The room is small, a full sized bed and nightstand grace one wall, a chest of drawers across from it flank the closet door. Jaskier is grateful to find hangers in the closet and soon his clothes are sorted between the drawers and closet and another box is empty.

Toiletries are the quickest, shampoo into shower, toothbrush into medicine cabinet, cologne from Valdo into the trash and the one he likes, the one he’d carefully picked after years of experimenting, is set on his dresser. 

The final box Jaskier sets on his bed and stares as though he expects a Fantasia montage of his items to sort themselves, telling him where the few things he’d argued with Valdo to keep when they moved in together fit. He hadn’t opened this box since he packed it months ago, when things with Valdo started going sideways and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing any more of his memories.

Jaskier can’t bring himself to open the box, to see the reminders of a life he pared down, convincing himself things were going to be better when he knew deep down he was lying to himself. With shaking hands Jaskier moves the box into the bottom of the closet before heading for the shower where it’s easiest to hide the tears pouring down his cheeks. 

It’s only when he steps from the shower does he realize how tired he is, head aching and eyes puffy from crying. Yanking on fresh boxers and a shirt to sleep in the smell of the detergent Valdo likes wraps around Jaskier and he misses the spicy scent that had enveloped him last night, that made him feel safe. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would get a detergent _he_ liked and would wash all his clothes. 

Curled in an unfamiliar bed, alone in an unfamiliar apartment, thinking over his interactions with Geralt, Jaskier weeps softly. _Won’t have to pin a note to me._ “Who would I even be returned to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by thanking you for all the wonderful comments! I love hearing what you guys think!
> 
> Also, this surpassed 1k hits and we were only on chapter 6. I honestly didn't expect that and am just blown away. Thank you.  
> To celebrate (yeah, I'm lame) I'm doing a The Biker and the Songbird AMA on tumblr. Find me at process-pending.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to the lovely VeritasRose who has wonderful ideas and willingly escapes into this world with me day after day.

Jaskier blinks up at the ceiling, willing himself to move, to get up and start the day. _You want to be worthless as well as fat?_ Jaskier closes his eyes on Valdo’s words as though that will silence them. 

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t _want_ to get up, but his thoughts had quickly spiraled until his mind was too heavy to convince him to stand. He’d left his guitar at White Wolf, which he may or may not be working at and if he was he’d probably missed a shift since Saturday nights were busy. Although after his episode yesterday he couldn’t imagine Geralt would still want him to play, which brought him back to how does he get his guitar? How long would they let it clutter up their office before throwing it out? And how would he get any gigs without a guitar to play? Never mind how was he going to wash the smell from his clothes if he couldn’t go get detergent and food, he needed to get food. His stomach twisting painfully, reminding him that it needed _something_ lest it eat itself and Valdo’s voice fills his head.

A loud knock at his front door has Jaskier’s eyes snapping open. There’s no indication he’s home, he hasn’t made any noise, maybe if he just waits they’ll go away. Jaskier thinks his plan has worked as the minutes crawl by and no further knocks sound but the silence is broken by his phone rattling across the dresser. 

Jaskier sighs through his nose, there’s not many people that have his number, another thought that had been torturing him this morning. Of course there’s no way Valdo could have gotten his number and yet it never occurred to him that it might be Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert or the most obvious Geralt. 

206-374-7326

_It’s Lambert. And Eskel._

Jaskier frowns at the phone, of course Geralt told them of his meltdown but they’d given him their numbers and he’d meant to put them in so why–another round of knocks sounds and Jaskier understands. Yanking on his jeans from the night before Jaskier hurries down the hall, yanking up his zipper with one hand he unlocks the door with the other.

“Was starting to think you’d bolted.” Is Lambert’s greeting, Eskel frowning at him before turning to Jaskier.

“Good morning. Sorry to barge in.” Jaskier turns to Eskel who looks a lot less intimidating than Lambert, even with the gnarly scar. 

“No, you’re not. Please come in. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I didn’t expect anyone.” Jaskier steps back, swinging the door open wide Eskel steps through followed by Lambert. “Can I get you anything? I...think I have water?” Jaskier winces at the look his statement earns, of course he has water.

“Do you have food? Have you eaten?” Jaskier would swear it’s concern on Eskel’s face and in his voice as he takes in what Jaskier is sure is a sight.

“Yes. I mean no, and yes. I’m going to and I will.” Jaskier gestures vaguely before wrapping his arms around his cramping stomach. A few glasses of water would quiet it long enough for him to think, to make another plan. 

“If you need–” Eskel starts only to be cut off by Lambert.

“You apparently need these.” Lambert pulls a key fob from his pocket, holding it out to Jaskier who stares at it dumbly. “Geralt said you needed a car.” Jaskier’s eyes blow wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Oh,” Jaskier’s brain shorts out, his stomach twisting painfully, distracting him. “I...I can’t.” Jaskier tightens his arms around himself, forcing his hands to himself instead of greedily snatching the answer to so many of his problems. 

“I had to listen to Geralt complain all night and now he doesn’t even want the damn thing.” Lambert grumbles. Eskel replies but Jaskier doesn’t hear it, _Geralt complained all night about me._

“Jaskier?” Eskel’s voice pulls Jaskier back, blue eyes snapping up, bracing for a blow for not listening that doesn’t come, if anything Eskel’s demeanor softens. “You _do_ need a car, right? You don’t have one?” 

“I don’t, but it’s fine.” Jaskier is quick to rush on, wanting to prove that he’s not useless. “I was going to see where the nearest bus stop was or Uber.” Jaskier hates how weak his plans sound even to himself, a bus wouldn’t be so bad, the most expensive thing there would be time, but an Uber was just throwing money away, money he should use to pay for the apartment.

Eskel and Lambert share a look, one that’s an entire conversation between people who have been friends for years. Lambert nods and heads for the door, leaving Eskel who sets the key on the kitchen table and Jaskier wonders when that happened. Hadn’t Lambert been holding the key?

“Jaskier, I don’t think a bus stops anywhere near here. Why _can’t_ you?” Eskel’s tone is gentle and Jaskier knows he’s just trying to help but this is too much.

“I can’t afford it. I can’t even afford _here_.” Jaskier snaps and instantly regrets it, ducking his head as he pulls his shoulders up, prepared to be struck but the hit never comes. Eskel doesn’t move, knowing even the slightest shift could be misinterpreted. After long moments Jaskier comes back to himself, the muscles that had been pulled taut loosening.

“Sorry.” Jaskier’s eyes search the ground as though he might find his dignity there and reclaim it. 

“Give it time, you’ll stop apologizing for things you don’t need to.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn. “As for the car, don’t worry about it. Lambert owns a garage, it’s used but reliable, if you like it he’s happy to sell it to you, just pay whatever you can whenever you can. If it’s not your thing, then you’re just borrowing it until you get one? Sound ok?” Jaskier wonders if Eskel is a counselor or maybe a hostage negotiator. Jaskier looks past Eskel to the door Lambert had disappeared through, he really should thank him, it was him doing the loaning. “Don’t worry, he knows you’re grateful.”

“I really am. I mean, I do, appreciate all this.” Jaskier gestures to the apartment and all it represents. 

Eskel gets a shy smile as he says, “It’s what we do.” With that Eskel is gone.

Jaskier stares at the keys after Eskel leaves, fighting the urge to return to bed and make his plans from there. His stomach lodges its own protest and Jaskier steps to the sink, gulping down handfuls of cold water until his stomach aches with it. He can do this. 

o~O~o

Jaskier finally drags himself to the store, driving one town over to avoid any chance that he might run into Valdo, as slim as it is. Jaskier’s basket is mostly cleaning supplies by the time he finishes his lap around the store, a bag of apples, stalks of celery, a clump of broccoli, a head of lettuce and a carton of cherry tomatoes. He knows he’ll be weak and this won’t last him the week which means another trip and more wasted gas so he takes another lap and forces a few more things into his cart. A jar of peanut butter tucked shamefully in the corner, two bags of baby carrots and a carton of strawberries. 

Valdo had taken to accompanying him grocery shopping when Jaskier proved he couldn’t be trusted, bringing home pizzas and his beloved sweets. Jaskier barely remembers what he even likes but it doesn’t matter, this is more money than he should be wasting with his mounting bills. 

At the register Jaskier asks for an application, having seen the note on the door proudly announcing _We’re Hiring! Apply within._ It could work, the museum has a mostly set schedule except for major events so he could work part-time here, between the two he’d hopefully make enough to pay for the apartment and car. 

The plan soothed Jaskier as he repeats it over and over in his head, he'll fill out the application first thing, maybe even drive it back over tonight, then he'll wash all the dishes and surfaces, give the place a good scrub, start laundry with the detergent _he_ likes. 

Jaskier can't tell you the make or model of the car from Lambert, he's never been interested in cars and other than small and silver he isn't sure how else to describe it if asked. It was clean and older, the CD player dated it, but it hadn’t broken down in the limited time Jaskier had driven it and that was enough for him. 

Jaskier is retrieving the last of his bags from the trunk when one of his neighbors pulls up, a grandmother if Jaskier’s ever seen one climbing slowly out. Jaskier is pleased when the friendly smile and nod he gives as he passes is returned, seeming not to find it odd a strange man is entering her building. 

Once inside Jaskier opens the front window blinds, telling himself it’s to let light in when really he just wants another look at his neighbor. She’s got a bag in each hand and is slowly making her way towards the door. Before he can think it through Jaskier finds himself in the hall, opening the door for her. 

“Oh! Thank you! You’re such a polite young man.” She turns green eyes on him and this close he can see the careful way she’s done her makeup, smell the expensive perfume she'd put on that morning. 

“I’ll grab the rest of them for you.” Jaskier offers and though she demurs he flashes one of his grins and she comes around with a gentle squeeze of his arm. He plans to set the bags outside her door but she’s there before he can, ushering him in. 

“I really appreciate this dear, these old bones think they want to move until you set them to it.” She winks at him and he chuckles. “I’m Betty, by the way.” She offers her hand and Jaskier notes it’s cool and soft in his. 

“Julian.” 

“Beautiful name for a beautiful boy.” She smiles again at his blush as he stammers a thank you. “Are you one of Melinda’s?” Betty sets about emptying the grocery bags, seeming content to line everything up on the table before sorting it into the cabinets.

“Um...no?” Jaskier isn’t sure who Melinda is but he’s fairly certain he’s not one of hers.

“Oh, sorry!” Betty laughs, giving one of those apologetic hand waves. “She lives upstairs and always has a trail of good looking men, thought she’d finally found a decent enough one she was going to keep.” 

“Nope, definitely not one of Melinda’s.” Jaskier doesn’t know how kindly Betty will take to his partner preference and moves on before questions can arise. “I’m across the hall if you need anything.” Jaskier bids her goodbye and slips out the door, smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know it's not right to brag but, I just wanted to say I have the *best* readers. I don't know if you've seen their comments but yeah, I'm really lucky. <3
> 
> I'll be back Saturday with a new chapter, until then, have a great week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry.” The apology gets lost in the hum of the bar, but Geralt has seen his mouth form the word so often he doesn’t have to hear it to know it’s being said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wonderful thank you to my friend and betareader VeritasRose as well as all my lovely readers. You're all the best!

Jaskier finds himself reaching for his guitar, wanting to pair his new lyrics with some chords only to remember it's still at the White Wolf, starting the debate over again. The week passes slowly, each day Jaskier considers driving to the White Wolf to see about reclaiming his guitar, but the thought of walking in and facing Geralt or even contacting him makes Jaskier nervous. 

What if Geralt misunderstands and thinks he wants more again? Geralt had already done so much and then offered him a job and he truly didn’t intend for Geralt to get him a car, especially after he went through all the trouble of picking him up from work. All this has Jaskier seriously thinking about buying a new guitar. Until he checks the prices. 

Friday finally arrives, the day he’s been waiting for all week. He has an early shift at the museum and then he’s free for the day, well, kind of. He’d promised Betty he would carry the bags of mulch and any flowers she bought to plant out front from her car, he was also planning to dig the holes for her but she didn’t need to know that. 

“You can do this, it’s just turning in an application.” Jaskier murmurs to himself again. He’d brought a spare shirt to work with him, changing before he left so he could apply for the grocery story job on his way home. With a final breath he opens his car door and strides inside. 

Bolstered by how easy it was to turn in the slip of paper Jaskier finds himself driving toward the White Wolf, he’ll get his guitar back and even if he doesn’t pick up gigs his fingers ache to make music again. 

It’s early enough the parking lot is mostly empty and Jaskier falters, at least if it was crowded he might not be noticed or they would be too busy to talk long. Jaskier imagines just going home, sitting there knowing he was so close and didn’t go in, or worse, one of them would text and ask _why_ he didn’t come in. 

It takes a moment for Jaskier’s eyes to adjust to the dark inside from the blinding afternoon sun, but he finds a redhead behind the counter and a handful of scattered diehards each claiming their own table. 

“Afternoon!” The redhead calls and Jaskier smiles, knowing he’s seen her work the bar before but can’t recall her name.

“Hello.” Jaskier says, stepping up to the bar, faltering as he’d expected Yennefer, he’d prepared himself for Yennefer.

“What can we get you?” She smiles and Jaskier tries to subtly look for a name tag but she’s not wearing one and he has to answer and so he blurts, “My guitar.”

The redhead’s lips curl up at that, a soft laugh following as she looks at him fondly. “Was wondering if you were ever coming back for that. Don’t worry, it’s tucked in the office where you left it, though Ciri was mighty intrigued.” Jaskier nods, relieved to hear it was still here, though he wasn’t sure who this Ciri was. 

“Just been busy with work.” Jaskier tries, hoping it doesn’t sound as hollow as it is. 

They awkwardly stare at each other before Triss finally offers, “You can head back and get it if you want.” Jaskier thanks her and heads around the bar and down the short hall, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, he’d get his guitar and– 

Jaskier opens the door to find Geralt sitting at the desk, a stack of receipts before him as he works at something on the computer. The door opening doesn’t warrant his attention but the absence of movement following it does and so he turns, exasperated at whatever antics his employees are up to now turning to shock at Jaskier seemingly frozen in the doorway.

“Sorry! Um...the redhead said I could. I was just getting my guitar, I didn’t know you would–or I would have–but I can go.” Jaskier is backing away by the time Geralt finds his voice.

“No! No, it’s fine.” Geralt starts to rise and remembers how Yennefer is always getting on him for “that looming thing you do” so he sits back down, gesturing to the corner Jaskier’s guitar has been mocking him from all week. 

Jaskier hefts the case, wondering if it’s gotten heavier or if the apple he had for lunch has worn off, fighting the urge to lay it across the couch and open it, just to see his guitar. 

“Thanks again.” Jaskier forces himself to quit there, trying to remind himself the less he says now the less he’ll have to apologize for later, but the words seem to pain Geralt.

“The offer still stands, to play here.” Jaskier wheels around in the doorway, tilting the case up so he doesn’t bang it on the jamb. 

“Oh.” Geralt’s eyebrows raise at Jaskier’s surprise but he just waits and Jaskier realizes Geralt’s waiting on _him_ for some sort of response.

“I didn’t...I mean I thought after,” Jaskier is aware of how petulant he sounds. “I’d be happy to play here, thank you.” Jaskier finishes weakly but it doesn’t have the effect he’d hoped as Geralt’s mouth flattens into a line. 

Geralt sees fear flash in Jaskier’s mind and doesn’t think he realizes he’s shifted back, angling his body so he can easily escape down the hall. “You don’t have to, it is only if you want.” 

“No, _I do_. I just.” Jaskier pauses and takes a breath, composing himself. “I do, thank you. When would you like me to play?” 

Geralt tries to hide his confusion at how formal Jaskier has suddenly become. “Preferably Friday and Saturday nights as they’re our busiest but if that doesn’t work–”

“No! I mean yes, I’ll be here.” Jaskier nods.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here, if you don’t wish to drive back. I’m sure Triss wouldn’t mind the company or you can stay back here.” Geralt offers, hoping to figure out what has made Jaskier so skittish. Jaskier looks uncertain even as a smile pulls at his lips, like Geralt’s offer was more than to save him driving all the way back to the apartment but as soon as it’s there it’s gone.

“You don’t mind? You’re not...angry with me anymore?” The words are timid, as though he fears voicing them but can’t not. 

“Angry? When–” Geralt thinks over the last time he saw Jaskier, when his ill worded text had terrified him. He knows he hadn’t handled the night well, but thinking back the ride had gone fine and he’d dropped Jaskier off and...said nothing. Geralt feels like someone sucker punched him in the gut as he thinks back to that night, the way Jaskier had lingered by the bike, rambling nearly as bad as he had in the museum and he hadn’t responded. 

“No, Jaskier. I’m not angry with you anymore.” The words feel wrong in his mouth but it’s easier to repeat what Jaskier said than correct him, make him feel even worse. Jaskier’s smile widens at the news and Geralt almost wishes Valdo would be dumb enough to walk into the bar if only so he could have another go at him. 

As quickly as his smile forms it fades, regret tinging his words. “I can’t, stay I mean. I promised Betty I would help her with the plants, but I can come back. What time do you want me to go on?” Jaskier is digging in his pocket for his phone to check the time, not really sure how long he sat in his car convincing himself to turn in the application. 

“You’re free to go on whenever you want.” Geralt knew if it had been any other musician he would have given them a specific time if he’d even let them perform at all, but he didn’t have it in him to inflict more rules on Jaskier. 

“I swear I’ll be back!” Jaskier says again before he’s jamming his phone back in his pocket and disappearing down the hall, leaving Geralt wondering who the hell Betty was.

o~O~o

“I hear you work fast.” Yennefer says without preface when Jaskier takes a break at Geralt’s insistence. He’d been playing for three hours straight and Geralt had the distinct feeling he would play straight through until the bar closed in the wee hours of the morning if someone didn’t intervene. 

Jaskier’s eyebrows draw together first at Yennefer’s comment and then at the unfamiliar drink set before him. “I think I should stick with water.” Jaskier didn’t know what it was, but beyond that he probably wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job. “But thank you.” Jaskier hurries to add.

“I think you’ll like it and it’s only one drink, right boss?” Jaskier turns to find Geralt has moved closer, leaning against the wall that leads down the hall to the offices.

“Don’t force him Yennefer. If he wants to drink he can, if not leave him alone.” Yennefer narrows her eyes at Geralt’s tone and use of her full name, knowing she’s missing something. 

“It’s called a Toasted Almond, it’s sweet, thought you might like it.” Yennefer leaves it sitting on the bar but dutifully adds a glass of ice water. “So, I heard you brought a lady friend flowers? Romantic.” 

“Yenn.” Geralt growls at the same time Jaskier casually answers, “She’s in her seventies and technically she bought the flowers.” Yennefer’s eyebrows shoot up as she looks to Geralt who looks just as stunned.

“Well, that’s very...modern of you.” Geralt thinks Yennefer should get awards from how level she keeps not only her tone but the smile he knows threatens to curl her lips. 

Jaskier’s brow furrows, pulling back a little as he looks at Yennefer. “Really? I thought it was more old fashioned, just how I was raised, you help your elders.” Yennefer glances to Geralt who looks just as lost at this turn of events. “I know that face, something good is going on down here.” Triss nudges Yennefer, her deft hands working the pulls to fill a tray with beer orders.

“Jaskier was just telling us about his girlfriend.” Any response Triss has is lost to the sound of Jaskier’s choking, his cheeks flush as he struggles to remove the water from his lungs, coughs muffled by his hand. Geralt knows better than to touch him but the other bar patrons don’t.

“Yer supposed ta drink it, not breathe it.” A man beside Jaskier laughs as he claps Jaskier’s back, but it has the opposite effect as Jaskier’s shoulders hunched up, his coughing turning to gasps as a different ingrained fear takes over. Geralt pushes off from the wall with a dangerous look, bodily inserting himself between the man and Jaskier.

“Jask, it’s ok, take deep, slow breaths.” Geralt doesn’t dare touch him to get his attention though he’s sure the words fall on deaf ears, the din of the tavern loud around them. 

“Take sips.” Yennefer encourages, nudging the water glass against his fingers, the cool feeling encouraging him back. With a shaking hand Jaskier brings the glass to his lips, taking small sips, forcing his breathing to slow. 

“Sorry.” The apology gets lost in the hum of the bar, but Geralt has seen his mouth form the word so often he doesn’t have to hear it to know it’s being said. Geralt looks to Yennefer, helpless but her eyes just dart from him to Jaskier, indicating he should say _something_. 

“We shouldn’t have pried.” Geralt doesn’t take his eyes from Jaskier but Triss feels chastised all the same and slips away with her now filled tray. 

Jaskier shakes his head and casts a glance to the side, Geralt’s broad front fills the view and hides the rest of the bar from sight but Geralt misunderstands the look and starts to move, fearing he’s crowding Jaskier in.

“ _No_. Please–” Jaskier’s hand stops a hair's breadth from Geralt, blue eyes peering up into his and Geralt shifts back, resting his left arm on the bar, giving Jaskier a soft smile of reassurance. 

Jaskier reclaims his hand, wrapping it tightly around his glass while he says, “Betty lives across the hall. I offered to help her plant flowers out front.” 

“That’s very nice of you.” Geralt catches Yennefer’s mouth start to twitch before she turns back to the bar.

“You don’t have to play anymore tonight if you’re not up for it.” Geralt offers, having a feeling Jaskier is too stubborn to quit even though he’s obviously worn out. 

“Thank you, but I’d like to keep playing.” Jaskier doesn’t make any move to rise so Geralt stays where he is, giving Jaskier all the time he needs. Jaskier finishes his water, eyeing the Toasted Almond drink before he asks Yennefer for a refill. She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment as she replenishes the ice and water in his glass.

Jaskier downs this one in large gulps, trying to stifle the shiver that courses through him at the cold filling his belly. It’s only after Jaskier headed back toward the stage does Geralt realize they’d sat in comfortable silence. 

o~O~o

Saturday goes smoother, or at least it does to Jaskier. He’d gotten a call for an interview from the grocery store and he’d had no doubts about showing up to the White Wolf after his shift at the museum. Jaskier thinks he recognizes a few faces in the crowd from those that had lined up, but if they recognize him they make no indication. 

He plays long into the night, pausing only when Geralt insists, even if it’s just to sit at the bar in what he’s quickly considering _his_ seat, the one on the short end of the bar, closest to the wall that leads down the hall. It doesn’t hurt that Geralt fills the space next to him each time he sits, giving him a reprieve from the people who approach asking for information on where they can find him online.

“I’m calling it.” Yennefer announces as today tips over into tomorrow, setting what Jaskier recalls is a Toasted Almond before him on the bar. “You’ve put in more than your time and we want you to do it again next weekend but you’re going to need vocal chords to do it.” 

Jaskier smiles at the joke, in truth he was grateful to be sent home, his body crawled, begging for a shower but he knew he would be lucky if he staggered to his bed before sleep claimed him. Jaskier studies the drink, trying to recall if he knows what goes into it; Macee had insisted the half-salad he’d brought for lunch wasn’t enough and given him half her sandwich, leaving him no room to argue.

Yennefer takes Jaskier’s distraction to give Geralt a _look_. Now was his chance, otherwise he’d have to do it on the phone and Geralt's bad in person paled in comparison to how bad he was on the phone. 

“Jaskier,” Jaskier looks to Geralt at the sound of his name, tired blue eyes waiting expectantly and Geralt wonders when he’d learned how Jaskier looked tired. “Would you like to have dinner tomorrow?" 

Jaskier’s eyes widen in surprise and Geralt hurries on, “Here. We do it here.” Jaskier nods to show he’s heard but his mind is still spinning with what this could mean, why Geralt is offering.

“If you don’t want to, that's fine, you might have work or–. ” Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever heard Geralt string so many words together and wonders if it’s possible that he’s nervous. 

“What time?” Jaskier hates to interrupt but the thought Geralt may very well talk himself out of the offer spurs Jaskier on. 

“Five.” Geralt looks surprised and Jaskier doesn't know what to make of that reaction. Did he truly expect him to say no? Maybe he’d never intended for him to say yes. 

“Sounds good.” Jaskier tries to drown his doubts in a drink, which is surprisingly delicious and just the right sweetness. He chances a glance back at Geralt who looks the slightest bit less menacing and Jaskier grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is me attempting fluff.  
> I don't fluff well but can angst for days.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers!  
> Way back in chapter 4 Geralt mentioned a sense of deja vu from five years ago...this chapter we get to see what he was talking about.
> 
> Warning: There is a brief mention of abuse in this chapter, the paragraph is marked before and after with ~~ if you'd like to skip it.

Jaskier allows himself one last steadying breath before opening the door to the White Wolf. He’d spent the last hour over analyzing his outfit. His dress jeans, which were really just dark skinny jeans, his converse, a gray vest over deep forest green button-up completed his look. 

Stepping inside Jaskier isn’t surprised to find it empty, the White Wolf was closed on Sundays but what did surprise him was Lambert and Eskel arranging the room, chairs pushed aside as tables were aligned to form one long enough to hold eight people.

“Hello Jaskier.” Eskel calls, having turned at the stripe of sunlight across the floor, smiling at Jaskier. Lambert barely nods in acknowledgement, tossing the heavy wooden chairs back into place like they were little more than pillows. 

After Jaskier returns the greeting he finds himself awkward, he’s not sure if he should go back to the office or if Geralt will come out when he’s ready, unless he’s waiting for him in the parking lot. Jaskier’s increasingly panicked thoughts are disrupted by the call of his name again.

“Mr. Julian!” Jaskier turns just in time to see a short blur come around the corner of the bar, seeming to have come from the hallway, before barely skidding to a stop before him. 

“Well hello friend.” Jaskier easily falls into his familiar role, extending a closed fist he waits until the young girl nearly meets his with her own before quickly laying his open hand over the top of hers. “Paper covers rock. I win!” Setting her off into a fit of giggles.

“Ciri, how do you know Jaskier?” Jaskier’s head snaps up to find Geralt and Yennefer making their way towards them, a look he knows too well from leery parents wondering who this stranger is talking to their child; darker ones settle on him from Eskel and Lambert. 

“Don’t be silly mommy, his name’s Julian.” The tension in the room ratchets up about ten points and Jaskier knows he needs to talk quickly before Lambert and Eskel have a conversation of their own with him. 

“I work at the museum, her class came in for a field trip.” Jaskier explains to Yennefer even as doubtful grey eyes peer up at him. The room eases at the words and Yennefer briefly feels silly for having worried, she’d known that Jaskier worked at the museum but hadn’t even thought about Ciri’s field trip, much less that she would remember one of the workers. 

“Pama, Julian’s here!” 

“Hello Jaskier.” Geralt greets, earning Ciri’s attention.

“Pama, how do you know Julian? Did you go to the museum without me?” Ciri’s lips creep toward a pout at the prospect of missing out on museum time, a place she’d been begging to go back to since her class went until Yennefer had finally banned the word.

Geralt and Jaskier are equally confused by the unfamiliar names, but Geralt assumes Ciri has just confused Jaskier’s name. “Jaskier is a…” Geralt falters on the word, a beat hanging before he finishes with, “Friend.” A beat that twists something cold and sharp deep inside Jaskier, that taunts him for being so foolish for thinking anyone could consider him anything more.

Ciri’s face lights up and she turns back to Jaskier, bouncing in place as she asks, “Are you going to stay for dinner?” 

The cold claws up Jaskier’s insides, shame burning his cheeks at the second wave of understanding, it wasn’t a date, it was an employee dinner. “Yep!” Jaskier is sure his voice cracks but he’s looking down at Ciri and it buys him the moments he needs to school his features. 

“Yay! Sit by me.” Ciri takes his hand and begins leading him toward the table, directing him to the spot at the end she clambers into the chair to his right. Jaskier doesn’t feel right sitting at the head of the table but he’d feel more awkward moving so he just sits. 

Triss is behind the bar, setting empty glasses on a tray, Yennefer picking up the stack of plates, utensils piled on top and bringing those over. “I can help.” Jaskier starts to rise, he can prove he’s useful, but Yennefer waves him back down.

“You already are.” She looks to Ciri as she smoothly sets the table, turning she heads back for the tray of empty glasses.

“Did the Witchers save you too?” The falter in Geralt’s steps at the question barely registers to Jaskier and he entirely misses the long pause Yennefer takes, Ciri’s name so softly spoken it gets lost in Jaskier’s amused laugh.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them. Think you can introduce me?” Jaskier had always loved how imaginative kids could be. 

“You know them silly.” Ciri giggles, wiggling in her seat. Jaskier smiles, her laughter infectious.

“I opened a pretty bottle I found in the ocean and a genie stole my memory so maybe you can remind me?” Jaskier makes a show of settling in for a story, Ciri grinning widely at the attention and a captive audience.

“Some of them are wolves and some of them are cats and other ones are griffins.” Ciri is so serious it’s hard for Jaskier to keep a straight face but he knows how important a child being heard is and so he does. “And then they come to your house like a parade, 'cept it looks like a sad parade because they’re all wearing black jackets.” 

“A parade huh?” Jaskier chokes the words out, his smile wilting, while he wouldn’t describe the events of that Saturday as a parade he can see how a child would see it that way. 

“Yeah! And then we moved to a new house and my room wasn’t pink no more.” Ciri’s tone had turned serious either due to her moving or losing her pink room Jaskier didn’t have the ability to consider.

“Oh? Do you miss your pink room?” The words are automatic, latching onto the last thing she’d said. 

“Nope! I’s got a blue room now with stars on my ceiling.” Ciri brightens at this. She continues on describing her room but Jaskier barely registers her words or the bowls of food filling the table courtesy of Eskel, Lambert and Geralt. 

“Excuse me, bathroom.” The words are barely understandable, tripping over one another as he abruptly stands, interrupting Ciri who frowns up at him. He doesn’t notice the concerned looks that follow him as he disappears down the hall.

“Did I make Julian sad mommy?” Ciri turns so she’s kneeling on the chair, looking at Yennefer. The soft tinkling of the glasses on the tray the only thing giving her composure away. 

“No sweetie, I’m sure he’s fine.” Yennefer keeps her voice light and Ciri doesn’t look convinced but Eskel is there asking her about her bicycle and Ciri is distracted easily enough. 

Geralt eases the tray from Yennefer’s hands, “Yenna?” The name brings her back, tearing her eyes from Ciri she meets golden eyes filled with concern. 

“I’m fine, Wolfie.” She murmurs the words, the only time she called him that was when she _was_ actually rattled but knew she was safe. Geralt studies her a moment longer and she knows he wouldn’t blink twice if Ciri and her spent the night at his house, if she needed the security of someone else. 

“Take two people to carry a tray of glasses now?” Lambert takes the tray from Geralt who looks unamused at the interruption but holds his tongue in front of little ears. Geralt turns his focus on the hallway, no sign of Jaskier and Geralt is starting to wonder if maybe he’d dodged out the back door, if it had all gotten to be too much and he’d decided to go home rather than stay.

“When you asked him to join us, what did you say?” Yennefer asks, noting his look. It was obvious Geralt hadn’t told him about the Witchers, though he might have assumed he already knew what they were, but she hadn’t missed his reaction to Ciri’s invite to dinner. 

“I asked him to have dinner.” Geralt frowns at Yennefer who breathes, “Of course you did.” 

“Keep an eye on Ciri for me. I’m going to go check on him.” Geralt starts to protest but Yennefer drops her tone, stepping close her words sharply whispered. “He thought you asked him out on a _date_.” 

Yennefer marks Geralt’s expression in her mind, having never seen him so surprised and embarrassed at once, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he looks past her and down the hall. 

Yennefer peeks in the office but a quick scan shows it’s empty, which leaves her with three options: _Women, Men,_ or the door to the back parking lot. Without knocking she pushes open the men’s room door, spotting the shoes under the stall door.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer stands in front of the door, doubting any of the guys will try to come in but still wanting a moment’s notice. 

“Yennefer?” Jaskier’s shoes shuffle and she wonders if he’s going to keep up the guise, it’s clear he’s leaning against the wall, but she’ll let him pretend for a little longer if he needs it but the stall door swings open. 

“Oh good, you haven’t fallen in.” Jaskier huffs a weak laugh and shuffles over to the sink more out of habit than anything, pointedly keeping his gaze from the mirror as he washes his hands.

“If you want to go, that’s fine.” Yennefer offers but Jaskier’s already shaking his head no before she finishes.

“If I’d known it was potluck I would’ve brought something.” It would be more embarrassing if he left now, he can make it through one dinner, he’s survived worse. 

Yennefer isn’t sure where to start, which will be the less painful wound to poke seeing as they’re both so fresh. “You’ll know for next week, but you don’t have to bring anything.”

Jaskier bites back the refusal that threatens, it wouldn’t do to turn down an invite when he hasn’t made it through the first one yet so he just nods. “I’ll go so you can...” Jaskier gestures to the bathroom, confusing Yennefer until she realizes he thinks she came here for the bathroom, not him.

“I know the Wolf is small but we do actually have separate bathrooms. I was hoping we could talk for a minute.” She can see the protest in his eyes, the need to escape the conversation he thinks she wants to have so she plays the unfair card, “About what Ciri said.” 

“Oh, you don’t–I mean kids say the wildest things.” Jaskier brushes her comment off but Yennefer’s expression leaves no room for argument. 

“Office ok?” Yennefer’s swings open the bathroom door and glances down the hall, grateful to find it’s empty, Eskel having managed to keep Lambert from eavesdropping. 

Jaskier follows Yennefer into the office, resuming his seat from the first time he’d been in there she pushes the door so it’s barely cracked before taking her seat at the end of the couch. 

“I first met Geralt in the emergency room.” Jaskier's eyes widen at Yennefer’s blatant start, this was not how he thought this conversation was going to go. 

“My boyfriend, Istredd, was pissed I was late getting dinner on the table. Ciri had been sick all night and I’d finally gotten her down for a nap and fell asleep myself. He only took me to the emergency room because my head caught the dresser corner on the way down and head wounds bleed like a slasher movie.” 

Jaskier’s face makes the sound his mouth can’t, _Oh_. 

“Geralt had crashed Roach and was in the bed next to mine, he could hardly move but he heard Istredd laying into me for how much my failure was going to cost us. Eskel showed up as Geralt’s emergency contact and unbeknownst to me Geralt had decided he was going to help us.” Yennefer smiles softly at the memory, it had been another horrible night in the emergency room, Istredd had driven a county over, hoping to not be as conspicuous, but it turned out to be the night that gave them a new life. 

“Apparently Eskel went out to make sure Istredd didn’t come back to find Geralt talking to me. The curtain between us twitched aside and Geralt was standing there, leathers shredded, ribs wrapped, arm splinted and he asks me if I want to leave.” Jaskier turns incredulous.

“I had the same expression. I knew how I looked, I knew I should leave but,” Yennefer swallows, not a day passes she doesn’t think how foolish she had been to stay so long, to risk Ciri’s life. 

“It’s not as easy as it sounds.” Jaskier offers, the words quiet.

“Exactly. And I wasn’t just going to leave with a strange man. But Geralt wasn’t leaving it there and ripped off the corner of his chart’s paperwork, scribbled White Wolf and a phone number before handing it to me. Eskel appeared and our time was up, the curtain was back in place and I had a whole new reason for Istredd to be pissed. I tucked it in Ciri’s pocket and tried to forget about it, it’s dangerous to have ideas like that.” 

“They always seem to know.” Jaskier murmurs. Jaskier had entertained leaving, would leave everything but his guitars behind if it meant getting out but Valdo always seemed to see the hope in his eyes and _reminded_ Jaskier he was Valdo’s.

“He knew even before I did. I kept that note in Ciri’s pocket, hung that little dress right back in the closet and every morning I dressed her I thought about Geralt. Weeks passed before it got _bad_ again,” Yennefer pauses and Jaskier starts to offer that she doesn’t have to tell him but he can’t bring himself to silence her, to make her feel like he won’t listen so he stays quiet and waits.

~~ 

“He slit my wrists and left. Guess he thought I would bleed out or he could get custody of Ciri.” Istredd knew what meant most to Yennefer even if he had no interest in caring for her. “He didn’t go deep enough and after he left I went to Ciri’s closet and pulled out that slip of paper,” The image of blood smeared on her little girl’s dress, knowing if she didn’t do this, if she didn’t try it might be Ciri’s blood next time still haunted her. “I could barely dial there was so much blood and Ciri was crying and I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know this crazed man who would give out his number to people in an emergency room.” 

~~

Jaskier can’t help the smile, it does sound crazy but they made it and knowing that’s how it ends makes hearing the horror a little easier to bear.

“Geralt answered and I asked for the White Wolf, I’m sure I didn’t make any sense but he remembered or he didn’t care and I had the secret password so he asked for my address. Ciri was crying and I was trying to stop the bleeding,” This part was always a blur to Yennefer, it seemed so quick now, the phone call and tying on a towel as she tried to settle Ciri, but in the moment time had stretched on. The fear Istredd would get there before the White Wolf terrifying and seeming more possible with each passing minute. 

“A knock sounded at the door and I swear my heart stopped but I answered and to his credit Geralt did little more than blink at the dish towel covered in blood or Ciri crying into my shirt, clinging to me, he just asked if there was anything we needed.” 

“As if him showing up wasn’t enough.” Jaskier jokes and Yennefer smiles, because to them the simple act of reaching out was really all they needed.

“Yeah. I could live without Ciri’s baby pictures but I couldn’t live without her. I grabbed my purse and her blankie, she was inseparable.” Yennefer smiles softly at Ciri’s attachment to that bit of cloth. “But I wasn’t fast enough. Istredd didn’t take kindly to finding another man in his house claiming me and Ciri were leaving with him. Geralt put himself between me and Istredd, giving me the chance to run, but,” Yennefer knows Geralt doesn’t blame her but she has and always will. “I hesitated and Istredd stabbed him.”

Jaskier rocks forward, his eyebrows meeting his hairline. Valdo’s taunting voice is there, reminding him how he’s just a useless void, sucking up resources meant for those worthy and now he’s doing it to Geralt but he’s too nice to say anything so Yennefer will do it for him. 

“As terrible as this sounds, it was the best thing that could’ve happened. Geralt knocked Istredd out and Eskel showed up, kept Geralt from pulling out the knife until the police and ambulance got there. It took seven stitches and left a gnarly scar but missed anything vital. Istredd got probation but it bought enough time for Lambert and Eskel to help me move our things out and we stayed with Geralt until a safe house could be arranged and I was awarded full custody of Ciri.” Yennefer sighs hard, not a day went by when she wasn’t grateful for what Geralt had done.

“I still think about it,” Yennefer turns eyes on Jaskier that are decades older than the rest of her. “What would have happened if I hadn’t kept his number, if I hadn’t called.” 

“It was brave.” Jaskier protests. What she had done was brave, what he had done was cowardly and Valdo was right, all he ever did was take. 

“It was _stupid_.” Yennefer corrects much to Jaskier’s surprise. “I didn’t know this man; had met him in the ER, but he was the first person to offer me help.” Yennefer sees a flicker of understanding on Jaskier’s face and it hurts, he was so young, surely he had family who worried about him, someone who would have reached out. 

Surely it wasn’t so. 

“What _you_ did was brave. It may not seem that way now, but you made a decision people can’t bring themselves to make and it costs them their lives. No one here, not one person, thinks you less.” Jaskier waits for Valdo’s voice to argue away her words, but its silence gives Jaskier an unfamiliar feeling and he smiles, heartened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, a glimpse into Yenn's story.  
> The lovely VeritasRose had so many question's about Yenn's story at the end she said, you should make that into a one-shot and so this is now a series and the first part of Yenn's story is up! If you'd like to skip back in time and read more about her beginnings it's posted.
> 
> Thank you for reading and all your lovely comments! They make my days brighter. Next chapter Saturday...have a good week!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s mouth fills with excuses, ways of begging off, ways of twisting his temptation into a lie to snare himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the darkness of the last chapter how about a little bit of fluff?

Jaskier waits until she’s risen to stand, either manners or training Yennefer isn’t sure and she makes it all the way to the door, knowing she could leave things as they are and let him follow her out to dinner, but she’d caught the look on his face when Geralt faltered on the word friend. 

She turns, hand on the door, “Geralt asked if he could invite you to dinner.” It’s not the best starting place but there’s really no good one, not when she’s not sure how or if she should be broaching this. 

“Oh. Um, thanks for having me.” Jaskier tries to contain the awkwardness that threatens, knowing Geralt had to check with the others to ensure he could attend dinner makes it somehow worse.

“He’s never brought anyone before.” Yennefer can see the cautious hope her statement gives. “You’ve probably noticed Geralt isn’t great with words.” Jaskier laughs, it was rather hard to miss though Jaskier would admit he was grateful it wasn’t just with him. 

“He does pull off the brooding lurker rather well. Think we could get him to dress up as Angel for Halloween?” Yennefer huffs a laugh. 

“I’m not,” She gestures vaguely, “Getting between you and I’m not telling you how you should live but the last thing he wants is to hurt you.” She gives Jaskier a _look_ to see if he understands, in all the years she’d known Geralt he’d never looked at anyone the way he looks at Jaskier. 

Jaskier nods skeptically, he doesn’t think Yennefer would lie to him but it also seems unlikely that someone like Geralt would be interested in him. He knows Yennefer must read the doubt on his face because she lets out a put upon sigh, her mouth flattening.

“If you’re not comfortable you can go. Really, he’s not going to kick you out or stop you playing here but if you’re not comfortable having dinner with us it’s ok, we get it.” Yennefer gives him one last out, stripping away the excuses he could cling to in order to leave. 

“I’d like to stay.” Jaskier bites his lower lip, he’d honestly not intended to return once he’d fled down the hall, but he’d been gone so long they sent Yennefer after him and now he’s gone even longer and–

“You’re not the first person to need a break from one of these dinners.” Yennefer interrupts his thoughts. She really doesn’t know how Geralt would handle Jaskier leaving but they’ve all had their moments when they need to step away. 

Jaskier takes a steadying breath and Yennefer opens the door, leading the way back down the short hall. Lambert, Eskel and Triss have taken their places at the table, Ciri holding them captive with some story. Gearlt’s gaze is drawn by their return and Jaskier swears he sees concern, not shame, turned on him as he takes his seat. 

“What’s your poison?” It takes Jaskier a moment to realize the question is directed at him, looking down the table he finds beer seems to be the popular choice among the guys. 

“Water’s fine.” Triss raises one expertly shaped eyebrow at him. “Good. Great. Really.” Jaskier nervously reassures. 

“I’s get to has soda.” Ciri proudly declares to Jaskier, her tone telling him this is a rare occasion.

“Have, you get to _have_ soda.” Yennefer gently corrects, nudging Ciri’s elbows off the table while she’s at it. 

Jaskier is relieved they don’t follow the tradition of making the guest serve themselves first, it seems him sitting at the table is all they need before plates are being passed, each adult taking it upon themselves to serve from whatever dish is closest to them save for Jaskier who watches the whole thing with a bit of awe. 

Geralt is the first to notice Jaskier is the only one whose plate isn’t in the mix, the others having been at this for years, know who likes what and the respective plates make it back to their owners filled to preference. 

“What would you like?” And for the second time Jaskier turns his gaze down the table. An industrial sized pan of baked mostaccioli is flanked by a large bowl of fresh salad and thick slabs or garlic bread. 

“Salad?” Geralt looks affronted at the request but Triss meets Geralt as he holds out Jaskier’s plate, Triss wielding the salad tongs fills a section of his plate, using them to give him a slight wave from down the table.

“Lambert is the only one we encourage not to cook.” Yennefer teases.

“Hey!” Lambert protests but there’s no heat to it, he’s rather pleased with the arrangement of not having to worry about cooking something each week. 

“Geralt uses funny colored noodles but they taste good.” Ciri chips in, holding up her fork where said colored noodle is speared.

“Well then I’m sold, some funny colored noodles please.” Jaskier’s plate is soon returned to him and his stomach clenches, there’s more food before him than he eats in a week. His hand twitches towards his stomach, pinching what he finds there, a reminder of his need to be better.

“What kind of dressing do you want?” Triss holds up two bottles, waving them to get his attention and he realizes he’s the only one who hasn’t dug into their food. “Pretty sure we’ve got others in the fridge if–”

“It’s fine.” Jaskier’s hand jerks like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Which one?” Triss is giving him an _Oh, honey_ look and Jaskier hopes it’s only a woman thing that notices his nervousness being around Geralt. 

“Neither. I don’t. It’s good dry.” Jaskier’s response earns more than a few wrinkled noses but he’s spared further comment. Easy conversation picks back up, the topics staying far away from anything to do with the bar. 

Lambert, Eskel and Geralt easily clear their plates, Geralt frowning when he catches sight of Jaskier’s mostly full one, the only thing he seems to have eaten is the salad, poking at the pasta like Ciri.

“If you’d rather something else…” Geralt starts, keeping his voice low so as not to draw the other’s attention. 

“No, it’s delicious, really.” And that’s the problem, Jaskier doesn’t remember the last time he tasted such good food. The sauce is clearly homemade and the meat has been seasoned to perfection, with each bite Jaskier’s resolve wavered, his stomach already tight but begging for more. Golden eyes study him but don’t press and somehow this feels almost worse.

“Really? Is no one going to bring it up?” Lambert’s question draws everyone’s attention.

“We were trying to be decent but if you insist,” Triss starts, leaning forward as she folds her arms on the table. “Did you trim it in the dark or did you forget that you slept with a beautician again?” Triss teases, gesturing to Lambert’s facial hair. 

Jaskier marvels at Geralt’s laugh, the way he leans back in his seat, the easy countenance that overcomes him, a side the man seems to keep tucked away. Lambert is the only one unamused at her jest, turning his gaze down the table to Jaskier who tenses, fearing what’s coming.

“Julian?” Jaskier feels his smile tighten and crack in half, it’s not as bad as he was expecting but he’s not that person, not for many years. 

Jaskier licks his lips, regretting the action as he’s sure it only serves to make whatever follows seem like a lie. “The museum doesn’t allow nicknames on badges, claims it gets too confusing. 

“I have a nickname!” Ciri declares proudly, Jaskier gratefully latching onto the distraction.

“Do you now?” 

“Mmhmm. It’s Ciri.” Jaskier grins widely even as Yennefer shakes her head.

“That’s a very pretty nickname, sounds like the name of a princess.” Ciri beams at his words. 

“Geralt has a nickname too.” Geralt shifts at Ciri’s words and Jaskier’s not sure who he should look at, he’s never seen Geralt anything approaching uncomfortable but he doesn’t know if Ciri will continue without prompting.

“Oh?” He glances back at her, “Is it white wolf, like on your helmet?” Jaskier asks and Ciri wrinkles her nose at the same time Geralt says, “Yes,” she says, “No,” Drawing out the o as she scrambles down from her chair and scurries around the table, waiting expectantly beside Geralt’s chair. 

“Pama.” Jaskier doesn’t know if Ciri is asking for something or calling Geralt that but before he’s finished shoving his chair back Ciri is recklessly climbing into his lap, a wince and Geralt’s hand in the small of her back steadying her before she can do anymore damage. Yennefer looks apologetic but Geralt smiles fondly at the girl, clearly this is a usual occurrence.

“Pama.” Ciri repeats, resting her head against his chest. “Cause he’s the leader of us. He protects us.” Ciri wraps her tiny arms around Geralt in a hug. It’s sweet even if Jaskier still isn’t sure what she’s saying or how it’s a nickname. 

“Lambert thought it would be funny to teach her to call Geralt ‘pack master’ but she was only two and kept running it together.” Yennefer explains, smiling at the adoration Ciri has for Geralt. He was the closest thing to a father she had and Geralt had yet to miss a holiday or birthday since they came into his life. 

Jaskier can’t help the smile as he aligns the broad, menacing biker with this little girl hugging him close calling him pack master like she’s one of his wolves. Geralt catches Jaskier’s look, the faintest blush staining his cheeks as his lips twitch in a smile.

“We made dessert!” Just as quick as she was up she slips off Geralt’s lap, his quick reflexes keeping her head from a sharp introduction to the heavy table ledge as she bounds around the side of the bar, easily ducking under the flip-top counter. 

“That’s my cue unless you don’t mind floor brownies.” Yennefer rises to follow.

“Won’t be the worst thing I’ve eaten.” Lambert just shrugs at the prospect.

“That’s disgusting.” Triss wrinkles her nose at Lambert, even Eskel eyes Lambert with a bit of scrutiny. 

Ciri’s return is slowed as she carries a pan of brownies, her tongue poking out as she focuses on not tripping, Yennefer follows with a gallon of milk and roll of paper towels, ready to steady Ciri. 

Ciri doesn’t bother resuming her seat, she makes her way around the table and Geralt easily lifts her back into his lap, pan and all. A space is cleared and the pan is nestled on the table, Yennefer doling out hunks with scary efficiency that makes Jaskier fear for other parents at school bake sales. 

“You don’t get dessert if you don’t finish your dinner.” Ciri attempts a whisper, nearly falling off her perch and would have if Geralt’s arm around her waist didn’t stop her as she leans toward Jaskier, worriedly eyeing his still mostly full plate. 

“That’s ok, I’m full.” The lie tastes sour on his tongue and he tries to hide the wince when Lambert snorts at his answer. 

“There’s _always_ room for dessert.” Triss counters. Pouring milk into a short glass that she sets before Geralt and Ciri, tilting one towards Jaskier in question. 

“I’ll just get more water, thanks.” He plucks his empty glass from the table, mind scrabbling. The ice and water are easy enough to find and too late Jaskier thinks maybe he shouldn’t be behind the bar but a surreptitious glance shows no one so much as looking his way. He downs the glass in four painful gulps, before refilling it and returning to his seat only to regret having gotten up in the first place.

His plate has been nudged aside and in its place is a folded paper towel with a hunk of brownie that Jaskier’s no doubt is twice the suggested serving size. It smells delicious and Jaskier takes a drink as though he can drown his mouth’s watering to taste it. 

“Do you not like brownies? They’re my favorite.” Ciri sets her brownie down when she realizes she can’t lift the heavy bottomed glass with one hand, 

Jaskier’s mouth fills with excuses, ways of begging off, ways of twisting his temptation into a lie to snare himself. _I don’t like sweets, I’m allergic to chocolate, I don’t like chocolate, I prefer pie._

“If you don’t want…” Yennefer offers and Jaskier knows he should take the out, fingers pinching his stomach already heavy with his earlier weakness but Ciri’s hopeful grey eyes are on him. 

The brownie is dense in his hand, not just chocolate then and his suspicions are confirmed with the first bite, swirls of chocolate and chocolate morsels mixed in. He fights to chew, the sweetness too much after so long without, distantly he thinks how he used to practically live on anything sweet, was known for his sweet tooth. 

He forces himself to swallow, to praise her cooking skills which earns him a beaming smile before he allows himself sips of his water when he wants nothing more than to gulp and swish and chase the cloying sweetness from his mouth that urges him for another bite and another until he’s devoured the brownie. 

Talk resumes, something about a trip Yennefer is planning to take in a few weeks but the finer details are lost to Jaskier as he focuses on picking off chunks of the brownie, tucking them away in his napkin. He’s careful so no one notices, stopping when it looks like he’s taken a few more bites. 

Jaskier tries to help clean up, but is waved back into his seat, “No one helps clean up on their first night. Next week though.” Yennefer grins warns and Jaskier smiles, the automatic refusal at the prospect of doing this again absent, replaced by the warmth of being included. 

Jaskier tries to keep his features neutral when his plate is collected, noting it’s the only one with food still on it but when no comment is made Jaskier realizes how much he actually does want to return next week, bring his own dish to share. 

When the tables are cleared Eskel starts to move them back to their proper places, surprise showing when Jaskier pitches in but just murmurs a thanks while rolling his eyes at Lambert who’s taken to leaning against the bar, happily working through another brownie. 

“Anything else?” Jaskier asks as he pushes the last chair in place. The containers of food have disappeared and the tables are back in place but the urge to be useful still thrums through Jaskier. 

“That’s it. After years we’ve gotten a little too efficient.” Eskel laughs, wondering how it must look to an outsider. 

“Say goodbye Ciri, we need to get you home and ready for school tomorrow.” Yennefer appears from the back, purse on her shoulder and brownie pan in hand. Ciri slips back under the flip-counter, using the footrest to boost herself up onto the stools she waits for what appears to be the traditional goodbye. 

She holds out her hand for a high-five as Lambert wanders down first and uses her high-five to give her a spin on the bar stool, her white hair fanning behind her as peals of laughter tear from her. Eskel is next with a hug, followed by Triss who kisses her on both cheeks, setting off a new round of giggles. Geralt is last, picking Ciri up he spins her around before setting her on the floor where she hugs him hard before releasing him and running over to Jaskier, crashing into his legs and nearly knocking him over as she throws her arms around him.

“Think you’ve got competition.” Yennefer teases Geralt as he watches with a fond smile. Ciri releases Jaskier and bounds back over to Yennefer, grabbing her hand, signaling she’s ready to go. 

Jaskier’s stomach twists as he’s faced with Geralt. “Thanks, for inviting me.” Jaskier starts. 

“I’m glad you joined us. I hope we weren’t too much.” Geralt looks like he wants to say something else but changes it at the last moment. “I hope you’ll join us next Sunday.” 

“I’d like that,” Jaskier’s smile is genuine, _Geralt_ is inviting him back, wants him to continue to be a part of this. Geralt nods, his eyes sliding off Jaskier who turns, hoping to leave before he fucks it up. 

He makes it nearly to the door before a hand on his shoulder startles him, nearly dropping to the floor as he ducks away, catching himself only after it’s too late and he’s already moved. Jaskier turns to find Geralt’s hand hovering in the air, a pained expression pulling his features, only looking more pained when Jaskier mutters, “Sorry.”

“Jask, don’t,” Geralt seems to catch himself, whatever plea he wants to make dying on his lips with a sigh. “You didn’t eat much.” He holds out a to-go container, the large kind that are sectioned, a smaller one on top no doubt filled by a hunk of brownie. 

“Th-thanks.” Jaskier swallows hard and forces his hand to take the container, nearly dropping it when Geralt lets go at the unexpected weight. He turns and flees, each step toward his car weighed down by the containers, his weakness manifest.

Geralt stares at the door for long moments after Jaskier disappears through it, long enough that Eskel steps up beside his brother. 

“Give it time. It’s not you he fears.” Eskel reasons. 

“I knew better.” Geralt argues, turning regret filled eyes on Eskel. 

o~O~o

The box mocks Jaskier from the passenger seat, taunting him. He can picture the brownie sitting on his kitchen table, goading him with it’s cloying sweetness, wearing down his resolve until he’s standing in the kitchen shoving hunks into his mouth. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts, he won’t, he’ll throw it out when he gets home, no temptation, no failure.

 _So wasteful. That’s all you do is waste._ Valdo’s voice chastises him, a game where no answer is ever right. 

Jaskier changes tact, he’ll take it to work, offer it up at lunch, mark _Free!_ on the lid, surely someone will eat it and if not, he’s not wasting it, he tried. He just has to make it through the night and tomorrow morning, he shouldn’t even eat tomorrow, not after the way he gorged himself tonight.

Jaskier sits in his parking spot, unable to bring himself to look at the box of leftovers. He could just leave them but that’s no better than throwing them away and he’d only end up ruining Lambert’s car. No, he can and _will_ behave himself. 

With an affronted sigh Jaskier picks up the container and opens his car door, each step towards his apartment feels dangerous, his stomach heavy with the night’s failures. 

“What’s wrong dear? You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Betty’s voice startles Jaskier from his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed her door open or her step out in her gardening togs.

“Just distracted. How are you tonight?” Jaskier deflects.

“Oh, good dear. Just off to water the flowers, it’s best to do it before the sun comes up or as it’s going down.” She says as she tugs on her gardening gloves.

“I had dinner with some friends,” Jaskier tries not to marvel at how easily the word comes, “And thought you might like a plate.” Jaskier offers the containers.

“Oh, dear.” Betty smiles.

“I’m sorry it’s so late–” Jaskier starts, misunderstanding.

“Posh, this is so kind. Are you sure though?” 

“I am, really. It’s just mostaccioli, salad and a brownie.” Jaskier hazards a guess, doubting she’d complain if he’s wrong. 

Betty wraps him in a hug before accepting the container, thanking him again she turns back inside to place it in the fridge and Jaskier takes the opportunity to slip inside his own apartment. 

Laying in bed, Jaskier's hand ghosts over his stomach, spots tender from where he’d pinched. Promises of doing better the rest of the week are chased away by memories of his conversation with Yennefer, with her advice on Geralt and what it could mean. _If it’s not his words it must be his actions_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope everyone has a good weekend!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jaskier.” Jaskier freezes midstep, Geralt’s tone sending the slightest shiver of fear through him as he fights to remind himself it’s Geralt and he’s safe. He’s safe even if he just knowingly made him angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the lovely VeritasRose who not only beats this for me but has delicous ideas.

After interviewing and getting the stocking position Jaskier's days fall into a comfortable routine, his mind occupied by learning his new job or ensuring no kids get hurt while at the museum. Nights off from the White Wolf prove the hardest, the apartment echoing his thoughts back at him and he tries to lose himself to writing new songs, fighting the urge to head to the bar lest he look desperate or needy. 

After the first awkward Sunday dinner it’s understood Jaskier doesn’t eat the quantity his male counterparts at the table do and his plate soon joins the rhythm of passing-filing-return with smaller portions. No matter how much Jaskier eats, Geralt presses a plate into his hands each night before he goes, which he happily passes off to Betty who insists on making him cookies as a thank you.

“You know you don’t have to bring those each week.” Triss comments, spying the familiar tupperware container dangling from Jaskier’s hand when he stops into the White Wolf on a Tuesday afternoon. Jaskier wavers on his way to Geralt’s office, he was so relieved to have them out of the apartment he’d never thought how it might look, dropping them by week after week, collecting the empty container on Friday when he played.

“Oh, I–” Jaskier starts.

“I’m not complaining, they’re delicious, reminds me of the kind my grandma used to make. Just saying if you don’t feel like making them.” Triss shrugs. Jaskier nods and hopes she thinks the flush of his cheeks is from her compliment and not that they taste like her grandma’s cookies because _a_ grandma made them. 

“Geralt here?” Jaskier digs in his pocket for the check he’d carefully written out before leaving. 

“Back being his grumpy self.” Triss hooks a thumb towards the hallway and Jaskier smirks, the description was apt but he couldn’t imagine saying it to Geralt’s face. 

Jaskier swears Geralt looks happy to see him when Jaskier knocks on the door. “I’m not...interrupting? I can come back later.” Jaskier starts to back away before he even steps foot in the office, his carefully gathered nerve fleeing in the moment he needs it.

“No. Is everything ok?” Geralt is half out of his chair and Jaskier feels a twinge of regret when he realizes Geralt thinks something terrible has happened thanks to his cagey nature. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to drop off the rent check. I guess I could’ve done it Friday but it’s usually busy and…” Jaskier just lets it trail off, he didn’t like the idea of tainting Sunday’s dinner with what he was sure was going to be an awkward conversation. 

Geralt’s face does something Jaskier can’t read, he’d swear the man almost looks pained at the mention of rent but he just nods and Jaskier takes that as all the answer he’s going to get and hands Geralt the check. Jaskier tells himself he’s backing towards the door because he needs to head to work, even though he has an hour before his shift starts at the museum, and not because he knows Geralt isn’t going to be happy with what’s written.

“Jaskier.” Jaskier freezes midstep, Geralt’s tone sending the slightest shiver of fear through him as he fights to remind himself it’s Geralt and he’s safe. He’s safe even if he just knowingly made him angry. 

Geralt slowly pulls his eyes from the check to the man before him, “This is too much. You can’t possibly afford this.” He regrets his words when Jaskier’s cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“I assure you the check won’t bounce–” Jaskier argues.

“That’s not what I–” Geralt tries but it’s actually exactly what he meant. Even if Jaskier had this much money, it had to be _all_ he had, especially since he insisted paying Lambert, something he was just as surprised to learn as Lambert had been when Jaskier approached him with a check and repayment plan. 

“You wouldn’t tell me so I looked up similar places nearby, if it’s not _enough_ I expect you to tell me.” Jaskier’s voice is level but his insides are twisting, the apple and peanut butter he’d allowed himself for lunch souring in his stomach. He’d stared at this check for the past week, building up the courage to deliver it in person rather than mail it in and be as blindsided when Geralt approached him about it as he would be when he got it in the mail.

Jaskier refused to be a charity case, he would prove he wasn’t useless and if that’s what rent was he would find a way to pay it. Whatever he made in tips would have to be enough for groceries, he shouldn’t eat so much anyway and Yennefer had insisted on him eating during the breaks Geralt made him take so it wasn’t like he was starving. 

“It’s fifty dollars too much.” Geralt counters. “It’s an older building and we don’t offer garages.” In truth Jaskier had been scarily accurate with figuring out what most of the other tenants paid. Technically Eskel owned the building but he’d figured Jaskier would come to Geralt and wasn’t concerned about the rent situation in the slightest. 

Jaskier searches Geralt for the lie but it’s useless as he’s just barely started to recognize what Geralt looks like amused by his antics or annoyed by patrons. 

“I can rewrite the check and bring it by tomorrow.” It’s more of a question but Jaskier has a feeling if he gives Geralt an option he’ll find a way out of accepting _any_ rent money this month.

“There’s no rush.” Geralt answers and Jaskier internally smiles as he thinks Geralt will hope he’ll just forget. Jaskier nods, not wanting to leave but having no good reason to stay he turns to go.

“Jaskier,” Geralt waits until he turns back. “You should get something to eat before you go.” It hadn’t escaped Geralt’s notice that Jaskier ate less than Ciri and no amount of Yennefer teasing him about fretting would stop him from worrying.

“Thanks, but I have work.” Jaskier starts to leave again, trying to ignore Valdo’s taunting voice that threatens to twist Geralt’s concern, because it is concern. Right?

“We have carry out.” Geralt’s tone brokers no room for argument and Jaskier is helpless to stop the smile that crosses his face.

o~O~o

“Words getting out about you.” Yennefer comments, setting a plate of food before Jaskier. It had been a point of contention between them when she’d started insisting he eat when he took a break. He’d tried waving her off but that ended in Geralt thinking it was a money issue and even though Jaskier was quick to correct him he had no good argument and somehow ended up eating on Geralt’s tab. 

“What word?” Jaskier tries for nonchalant and manages just below outright panic. Yennefer eyes the plate, she was learning his tricks too quickly. In fairness she didn’t bat an eye when he insisted on a bastardized version of their grilled chicken sandwich which normally came wrapped in bacon and slathered in cheese. His came plain with no side, something that earned him more than a few curled lips and comments from Lambert about not having taste buds.

“People want to know when you’ll be playing. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed this isn’t just the usuals.” As though to prove her point Yennefer finishes making one of the brightly colored drinks with a skewer of fruit in it, handing it to a young girl who keeps shooting Jaskier glances, blushing when he catches her. 

It’d be hard not to notice the unusual crowd that had been populating the bar, absent of leather jackets and heavy boots made them conspicuous, but Jaskier didn’t think it was him specifically.

“You’ve got an online following.” Triss interrupts, earning a raised eyebrow from Yennefer. “What? It’s all over social media and hard to miss when they tag the bar.” Jaskier buries his surprise in a bite. Valdo had supposedly started some fan accounts for him but moderated them so Jaskier didn’t have to read the horrible comments people left.

Jaskier chances a glance at Geralt who’s at his now usual place next to him, shielding Jaskier from most of the bar and deterring some of the more enthusiastic fans from interrupting his break. Geralt returns Jaskier’s look with little more than a slight tilt to his head, though Jaskier’s starting to learn, or at least think, this is Geralt’s questioning expression.

“Sorry, I can…” Jaskier falters, how exactly did you ask only certain people in a crowded room to not come back and make sure you addressed the right ones? “I can stop playing. Bus tables or clean after we close.” Jaskier needed the money but he was more afraid of losing his excuse to see Geralt and was going to miss Sunday dinners which he’d started to look forward to.

“You _want_ to quit playing?” Jaskier fights not to shrink under Geralt’s stare, golden eyes focused so intensely on him it makes his stomach tighten and he pushes his barely touched plate away.

“No. It’s just, they kinda...they’re not White Wolf’s scene.” Jaskier hears more than sees Triss’ snort of laughter at his blathering description. Geralt looks over his shoulder, taking in the hoodies with college names in bold letters across them, the guys in ripped jeans and faded band t-shirts, the smattering of girls in bright dresses and the few who blended into the shadows dressed in dark colors. 

“Mmm.” Geralt turns back to Jaskier with a shrug and nudges his plate back towards him, a silent encouragement. Jaskier’s first response is to protest but he had an apple for breakfast before his shift at the museum, then carrots on his way to his stint at the store and if he’s honest he’s hungry and that first bite was tantalizingly good. 

Jaskier wills Geralt to look away as he plucks the sandwich from the plate and by some grace Geralt does, picking up his own drink he turns his gaze to Triss who is approaching.

“If anything, you should worry about dressing less like a cartoon character.” Jaskier’s mouth is full but his confusion shows all the same. “You wear the same four things, people post old old pics of you playing that get confused with in-the-moment ones because you’re dressed the same. There’s even talk of starting a fund or getting a designer to sponsor you.” Triss is so casual Jaskier can’t tell if she’s joking or not, her smile and arched brow not helping any. 

Jaskier used to have a closet full of clothes, it was ridiculous but he’d always had good taste and enjoyed dressing his part. Along the way Valdo noted which outfits worked and which didn’t, he said it was important Jaskier curated a _look_ , by that time most of his clothes were loose on him, making him look thick, so away they went. 

“You’re as bad as Geralt.” Triss teases, eyeing Geralt who, in all fairness, did often wear similar clothes, not that Jaskier was complaining. Dark jeans were slit at the hem to fit over heavy black boots, a charcoal tee hugs tightly to his frame, his hair pulled back in a partial ponytail. The only thing that looks out of place is the brightly colored friendship bracelet Ciri had made and insisted on tying around his wrist at the previous dinner. 

The silence draws out too long, Triss’ smile wavering at what was meant to be a joke seeming only to instill panic. 

“I’ve been wanting to get some stuff for my trip, you should come along. I’ll get a sitter for Ciri and it’ll be fun.” Yennefer offers, refilling his water glass with a frown, the way this boy downed water you’d think he was afraid the world was running out. 

“Oh, I,” Jaskier wants to refuse, he loathes the idea of clothes shopping but he’s no good excuse. He can’t say he doesn’t have the money, not after convincing Geralt he could afford his bills. “Guess that sounds fun.” Jaskier finishes, offering a pained smile.

“You’re gonna have to curb that enthusiasm, you’re as bad as Ciri.” Yennefer’s flat tone brings an honest smile to Jaskier. Maybe this won’t be so bad, Yennefer would understand why he didn’t have clothes, wouldn’t press if he only bought a few things. 

“Best get back out there, people are asking after you.” Triss comments, setting her now empty tray before Yennefer. Jaskier nods, turning to go but Geralt reaches out a hand to stop him, not daring to touch him; it hangs between them.

“They can wait, finish your dinner first.” The words are an encouragement more than a command but either way Jaskier is reminded exactly why he dreads clothes shopping; the rest of the sandwich tasteless and settling heavy inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said this before but I have the *best* readers. I mean, I don't want to brag but I'm just gonna dust some of that awesome off your shoulder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Charity.” The word taints the past weeks and it hurts more than he wants to admit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th to those who celebrate!
> 
> A big thank you to my wonderful friend and beta reader VeritasRose. 
> 
> Also, sorry in advance.

“Say the word and we’re done.” Yennefer offers from the driver’s seat. When Yennefer said they would have a shopping day Jaskier didn’t anticipate it being in the next forty-eight hours but she’d suggested Sunday and that happened to be Jaskier’s only completely off day for a while. It wasn’t that he was hiding his job as a stocker at the store, it just hadn’t come up naturally and the longer he didn’t mention it, the more awkward it felt to work it in sometime. 

“I think you were aiming for reassurance but that’s somehow more daunting.” Jaskier tries to joke, in all honesty he wanted to be done before Yennefer picked him up. 

Jaskier follows Yennefer into the first store, wondering how long it would be until she'd track him down if he just wanders off, all he needs is a couple shirts and a new pair of jeans; something that hasn’t been worn soft and shapeless by hundreds of washes. 

Yennefer turns, pushing her rimless, gold tinted glasses to rest on top of her head, the move is so smooth Jaskier wonders how she’s not a model. “Know what size you are?” Jaskier’s face goes carefully blank. “I can always check.” Yennefer’s grin is dangerous and Jaskier fully believes she’ll turn him around right there in the store and search him for tags long since washed of their printing. 

“I’m well aware, thank you.” Yennefer’s teasing smile falls at his tone and he feels bad, they haven’t even started yet and he’s already ruining it. “Sorry–”

“I should know better than to ask such a question. Shall we?” Any hopes Jaskier has of slipping off are dashed when Yennefer purposefully strides into the distinctively male clothing racks. They fall into an easy rhythm, Yennefer assembling different pieces that make dashing ensembles leaving Jaskier to find his size in peace. 

“Thought you wanted to get some things for your trip?” Jaskier’s arm is weighed down with three pairs of pants and no less than seven shirts of various styles. In truth, Jaskier didn’t want to take up all their time finding him things, but he’d also gotten a look at the price tags and the fifty dollars he got back from rent was really all the money he had to spend, which meant he needed to sneak most everything back onto the racks. A shirt and pair of pants would take most of the fifty he had to spend.

“Trying to get rid of me so you can avoid the dressing room? You should never buy anything without trying it on.” Yennefer changes directions and heads toward the changing area, a space Jaskier had been intent on avoiding. “Let me know if you want to change out anything.” 

Jaskier takes the dismissal for what it is and ducks into one of the changing rooms, locking the door behind him as he tries to ignore the already bright room made all the brighter by the mirror. 

Skimming of his shirt, Jaskier drops it onto the chair in the corner before he pulls on the royal blue long sleeved tee Yennefer insisted he wear, having picked a deep charcoal shirt to wear over it. Jaskier plucks at the close fitting shirt, reasoning it should be tight under the outer shirt. 

His converse comes off next, kicking them into the corner before his jeans follow. The dark black skinny jeans already have worn spots at the knee but that’s not the problem, the button refuses to slip into the hole. Jaskier frowns as he tugs the two sides together but they refuse to meet. He knows he’s grabbed the right size, he hasn’t bought new clothes in nearly six months, he knows what size he wears better than his own birthday. Which can only mean one thing…

Jaskier forces himself to face the mirror, to take in the way the shirt pulls snug across his stomach, once concave now flat. The sharp nobs of his hip bones that he’d used to hold up his pants are softened but the worst of it is his hips, pinching what his weakness has wrought. 

He skims off the too small pants, tears burning his eyes, sides aching from his bruising grip. The numbers mock him from their tag as he realizes he hadn’t shrunk his clothes in the wash like he’d thought. 

“You need some help?” Yennefer’s voice sounds and Jaskier jumps, elbow knocking into the wall, bringing new tears to his eyes as he bites back a groan. He assures her he’s fine, stomach twisting as he thinks of how right Valdo was, without him Jaskier would let himself fall back on old habits and all the work he’d put in over the months would be undone. 

Jaskier carelessly yanks back on his clothes, pointedly ignoring his reflection, cringing as he imagines how his stomach must look when he bends over to pull back on his shoes, rolls stacking on one another. How much longer, how many more dinners before he wouldn’t be able to tie them himself? His fingers fumble the ties at the mortifying thought of struggling to retie his shoe in front of Geralt, his look of disgust and disappointment as he realizes Valdo was right, Jaskier is nothing but a disappointment.

Gathering the hangers of clothes Jaskier opens the door to find an expectant Yennefer, frowning when she finds him dressed in the clothes they started in. 

“They look that terrible?” Yennefer jokes. It’s obvious something happened, Jaskier’s knuckles are white from his tight hold on the hangers but without knowing what triggered him she doesn’t dare pry. Not yet. 

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Jaskier really does appreciate Yennefer hiding her embarrassment. His fingers itch to abandon the clothes on the _Changed Your Mind?_ rack tucked in the nearby alcove but he already owes her for trying to make him more bearable to look at. He swallows hard as he thinks back over the weeks, wondering what they must think of him, parading around in clothes that are far too small, it’s a wonder they let him around Ciri. 

With a sinking feeling Jaskier realizes in addition to wasting her time if he keeps wearing the same clothes it’s sure to be noticed and Triss won’t leave well enough alone and Geralt will surely notice as well. 

“Just need to change out some of the sizes.” Jaskier bites out the words. He’s wasted her time, the very least he can do is not waste her efforts, he’ll get sizes that fit.

“Should’ve let me check.” Yennefer rolls her eyes and heads back the way they’d come, Jaskier so stunned by her easy acceptance he finds himself following after her automatically. 

“I can...I can get them if you want to go look. At your...things.” Jaskier weakly offers, hoping to limit the shame to himself. 

Yennefer slows at his words, an amused twist to her lips. “Don’t worry, I didn’t ask you along like the token gay friend to help me pick out scandalous things. I have Geralt for that.” Jaskier makes a choked noise, he can’t tell if she’s kidding or not, his mind still clicking over the confirmation that Geralt plays for his team when Yennefer continues. “So, give me those,” Yennefer unhooks the shirts from Jaskier’s hand, leaving him with the pants. “Take your time ‘changing sizes’.” She winks before she turns and weaves her way through the racks into the depths of the store. 

Jaskier numbly wanders back to the rack he needs, trying to sort the past few minutes, the relief he felt at the reprieve is fleeting, the numbers on the tag mocking him. Jaskier eyes a pair two sizes up, his stomach twisting as he remembers his reflection, pale belly forcing the flaps apart and he momentarily doubts that even these will be big enough. 

No. _No_. He’s let himself get lax, he can be better, he _will_ be better. 

Jaskier grabs one size up from what he normally... _used_ to wear. They’ll fit, he’ll make them fit, he vows silently. 

o~O~o

Checking out gives Jaskier a whole new anxiety as he frantically tries to recall how much was on each tag, what the total would be and a desperate hope that Valdo hadn’t somehow managed to cancel his lone credit card; if it wasn’t already expired. 

Jaskier is so consumed with his thoughts he barely resists when Yennefer collects the pants from his arm, not hearing her words. The harsh ding of the scanner snaps Jaskier back, Yennefer giving him a concerned look, waiting for a response to a question he has no hopes of answering. 

“You ok?” The clerk is passive as ever, smoothly ringing up and folding Jaskier’s clothes into a neat pile beside the register, the screen with the total turned away from him.

“Yeah, just...got distracted.” Jaskier forces himself not to fidget, not to reach for his wallet or check his phone for all the messages he knows won’t be there. Yennefer looks like she’s going to press but the clerk has finished and he shifts the slightest bit forward, encouraging her aside so he can swipe his card and send up a final prayer. 

Yennefer flips a black credit card between her fingers before slotting it in the chip reader, turning back to Jaskier at the choked protests he makes.

“Oh calm down, _I’m_ not paying for them.” Jaskier’s relief fights with confusion as it very clearly appears she _is_ paying for them as she retrieves the card and tucks it into her wallet. “Geralt is.” All the color drains from Jaskier’s face, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yennefer…” Jaskier questions but Yennefer doesn’t seem the least bit concerned as she exchanges the wallet for keys from her purse. The cashier holds out the bags, Jaskier blindly accepting them before speeding up his steps to catch up to Yennefer heading towards the door. 

“Yennefer, _please_.” Yennefer’s steps slow to a stop at Jaskier’s desperate tone. “He can’t pay for my clothes.” Jaskier’s stomach clenches and he thinks he might be sick. 

“He still hasn’t told you a thing about them, has he?” The words are tinged with wonder, half to herself and half to Jaskier. She sighs, “Come one, it’s not as bad as you think.” She leads him from the store, popping the trunks she gestures for him to put the bags in, leaning her hip against the bumper. 

“What do you know about the Witchers?” Yennefer starts and Jaskier resists the urge to puke, any thoughts of returning the items and putting them on his card dwindling. 

“It’s on the back of jackets.” Geralt’s back flashes through his mind from that first night where he’d held tight to that jacket, the sharp points of the white letters illuminated by passing lights.

“It’s a group that helps people...like us.” Yennefer chooses her words carefully, this wasn’t hers to share, not the way it needed to be, but Jaskier needed to understand. “You needed a place to stay, a car, clothes…” Yennefer shrugs hating how Jaskier retreats further inside himself with each word.

“Charity.” The word taints the past weeks and it hurts more than he wants to admit. 

“You need to talk to Geralt, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Yennefer wants to reassure him, sees so much of Ciri in him in this moment, a world that’s been far too cruel to him in too few years but these words will mean more coming from Geralt. 

Jaskier nods but his eyes won’t meet hers and she hopes she hasn’t just made everything so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my lovely readers, I am honored that you continue to follow this story and love hearing your thoughts on it. They really brighten my week <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know?” Jaskier decides this was in fact a terrible idea. Geralt doesn’t say anything, merely waits and Jaskier understands he’s the one that started this...whatever this is and Yennefer warned him Geralt’s not great with words and– 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betareading and bouncing all manner of ideas off as well as sharing her own.

Jaskier wonders how this day could get worse before quickly shoving it aside, not wanting the universe to take it as a taunt. Yennefer had dropped him off with a final encouragement to talk to Geralt; he would be at the White Wolf if he wanted to see him before dinner but that was the problem, Jaskier wasn’t sure he could stand facing any of them again. 

Geralt was as bad as Valdo. 

The thought draws Jaskier up short, Geralt was _nothing_ like Valdo. Yennefer said he should talk to Geralt and so he would, at the very least he wants to apologize for the cost of the clothes and reassure Geralt that he’ll pay for them. 

Jaskier spends the drive to White Wolf rehearsing the many ways this could go, wondering if Yennefer told Geralt he was coming early and if she had if it would make it better or worse. Triss is behind the counter when Jaskier walks in. 

“Ohh, what’d you bring?” Triss looks interestedly at the container Jaskier’s carrying. The group chat had noted it would be taco bar night courtesy of Geralt so sides were optional but Jaskier didn’t like showing up empty handed.

“Mexican rice. Put it in the fridge for me?” Betty had been the one to suggest it and then all too happy to help him find the perfect recipe for his skill level. Triss disappears with the container through the door back to the kitchen as Jaskier makes his way around the bar, regretting his decision a little more with each step. 

If Jaskier hadn’t seen his house he would think Geralt lived at the bar as he’s once more sat at the desk, a stack of papers before him. Jaskier raises his hand to knock when Geralt’s head snaps up, eyes softening when they find Jaskier lingering outside the door. 

“Jaskier.” There’s something about the way Geralt says his name that makes him feel safe and heat pool low in his belly. Jaskier wants nothing more than to leave, to go home and try again tomorrow, he’ll make a plan and he’ll stick to it and things will be good again.

But Geralt is staring at him with mounting concern as the silence draws on and Jaskier makes no motion to move. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Geralt’s out of his chair and around the desk, his hands coming up like they mean to clasp Jaskier’s arms or maybe pull him close but Geralt catches himself and returns them to his side, Jaskier untouched.

“I’m fine, I just,” _Wanted to apologize for not being better. For being me_. “Um, Yennefer and I went shopping and she said I should talk to you about the...Witchers?” Geralt nods as he steps back into the office, resuming his seat and Jaskier takes what he realizes he’s come to consider ‘his’ spot on the couch. 

“You...want one? A jacket?” Geralt asks and Jaskier isn’t sure whether he likes the idea of Jaskier saying yes or not.

“I don’t know?” Jaskier decides this was in fact a terrible idea. Geralt doesn’t say anything, merely waits and Jaskier understands he’s the one that started this...whatever this is and Yennefer warned him Geralt’s not great with words and– 

“I just wanted to reassure you that I’ll pay you back for the clothes. Or I’ll pay the Witchers back. Or, well you are the Witcher, _a_ Witcher.” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut lest the thoughts rambling around his head ramble their way out of his mouth. 

“Hmm.” Geralt hums. “You don’t need to replace the money spent on clothes. That’s part of being under Witcher protection.” The words sound familiar, a claim laid the night he left Valdo. 

“What does that mean? Who do I,” Jaskier hesitated, “Belong to?” 

Geralt’s eyes flare and for the first time Jaskier fears the man before him. “No one. _Fuck_.” The curse is muttered as he tries to calm himself, having caught Jaskier tensing, his eyes flicking toward the door. 

“The Witchers are a group of bikers, we help people who need to get out of bad situations.” Geralt explains. Jaskier nods, turning the concept over in his head, trying to recall that first night, when Yennefer had reassured him– 

“And you don’t ask for anything in return.” The words are more to himself but Geralt nods, looking uncomfortable. 

Jaskier turns his next question over and over, he has no right to ask, it’s truly none of his business anymore, but he needs to know. “Valdo,” Geralt’s entire demeanor hardens at the name. “He applied to be one, a Witcher.” 

“He’s never going to be one.” Geralt studies Jaskier, getting the sense he’ll blame Marx’s rejection on himself. “He was _never_ going to be one. Not everyone has what it takes.” Geralt stops himself before he tells Jaskier that _he_ has what it takes, that he could see him joining the Witchers in time if he so desired. 

Jaskier expects to feel bad, waits for regret and the urge to plead Valdo’s case, to convince Geralt that he should be considered but instead he feels relieved. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s eyes slowly work their way until they meet Geralt’s who gives the smallest smile. 

“Paaaamaaa!” Ciri’s voice echoes down the hall, saving Jaskier from further embarrassing himself. The sound of quick footsteps is heard before Ciri all but crashes through the door, spying Jaskier on her way to Geralt.

“I’s forgot to knock.” Ciri slows, looking between the two. “Mommy says I’m supposed to knock cause people’s rooms are private.” The words are clearly more from memory than understanding.

“The door was open so maybe it was ok not to knock this time.” Ciri smiles at the waiving of chastisement. Tugging on Geralt’s hand as though she alone can bring him to his feet.

“It’s _taco_ night!” Ciri beams at the words, turning to Jaskier.

“So it is.” Jaskier tries to reflect her enthusiasm but his smile comes out more pained. 

Ciri leads the way from the office, sharing her week at school and how good she’s getting at tether-ball but it barely registers to Jaskier who is struggling to wrap his head around the daunting task ahead: dinner. 

Jaskier slips into the kitchen, warming up his rice while Eskel and Yennefer pull a multitude of containers from the fridge and disappear through the door. Lambert takes the crock from one of the two slow cookers on the counter, bellowing, “Hot” as he walks through the door, scattering those on the other side.

The setup is different tonight, two tables off to the side act as a buffet and Jaskier’s not prepared. He’d been growing more and more comfortable with the hectic plate passing over the past few weeks, it was easy to explain away when he didn’t finish his plate since he wasn’t the one to make it. But this involved a line, where people would be waiting on him, idly watching as he fixed his plate, noting how much he ate. 

Jaskier lingers, straggling to the back of the line under the guise of getting everyone’s drinks, downing two glasses of water before he sets his own full water glass on the table. 

“You can go ahead of us if you want. This will take a minute.” Yennefer offers as she helps Ciri fit the large serving tongs in her hand before a lettuce shower can befall them. 

“I’m in no rush.” Jaskier pokes the small handful of chips he’d put on his plate, arranging them just so. Jaskier covers the chips in finely shredded lettuce, adding chopped tomatoes he skips the refried beans eyeing the cheese and sour cream, but he decides against those too. 

He slips into his seat, trying to ignore Geralt’s weighted glance at his plate.

“There’s shredded chicken.” Geralt finally utters, the words meant only for Jaskier. It hadn’t escaped Geralt’s notice that Jaskier insisted on plain grilled chicken, declining when Yennefer had tried to get him to try their house burger one night instead. Geralt couldn’t stand to see Jaskier eat more chicken but didn’t want him to not eat either, the kid was likely to tip over if he yawned too hard.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s surprise is genuine, he hadn’t even bothered with the two slow cookers. 

“If you want.” Geralt adds on when Jaskier hesitates.

“No. I mean, thank you.” Jaskier forces himself to rise, to ignore the stares he’s certain are burning into his back as they marvel at his audacity, already on his second plate, what must they think. Jaskier’s cheeks burn, the lid rattling as he lifts it off the slow cooker, finding hamburger crumbled within. He fights to steady his hand as he reaches for the smaller slow cooker next to it, this one looking like it’s designed to hold little more than dip and tucked within is a couple cups worth of shredded chicken. 

Oh. There’s shredded chicken if _he wants_. Geralt had made it for him and then he hadn’t even bothered to take a token amount. Jaskier spreads the meat across his lettuce, reminding himself to be better, he’s already let himself go too often at these dinners.

Returning to his seat Geralt makes no motion to acknowledge his return and after a moment Jaskier admits, “Thank you. I had no idea it was there.” Geralt smiles at him and Jaskier wills the burning in his cheeks to fade.

“Thought you took our boy shopping?” Triss comments and Jaskier feels his cheeks heat for an entirely different reason as the table’s attention is turned on him.

“I did. Couldn’t do too much damage though, only got a few things. Next time though…” Yennefer shares a look with Triss that makes Jaskier nervous if the pile of clothing he ended up with isn’t considered ‘much’. 

Triss eyes him and he knows what’s coming before she comments, “Waiting to unveil your new look next weekend.” 

Jaskier’s eyes slip from her, coming to rest on the table before his plate, _If they even still fit by then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today dear readers, until Saturday.   
> I hope you all have a great week and thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shame fills Jaskier, he’ll have to go home, making him late to play all because he was so focused on eating he forgot his responsibilities. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to the wonderful VeritasRose for betaing this for me. And bouncing endless ideas.

“You go shopping without me?” Jaskier straightens from where he’d been setting the table, his contribution for the night had been a fresh loaf of garlic bread so his was first on the table. 

“No?” Jaskier frowns at Yennefer, confused by her question. 

“Oh. Just didn’t recognize it.” Yennefer eyes Jaskier who fights the urge to tug at the hem of the shirt. Jaskier knew she was just being polite, trying to tell him without embarrassing him and he appreciated that with everyone milling around, he needed these encouragements to remind him to stick to his plan.

“What’s everyone drinking?” Jaskier asks, slipping behind the bar. As the requests for drinks are called, Jaskier uses the excuse to drink two glasses of water, forcing down a third when his stomach protests, cramping painfully.

“You ok?” Jaskier starts, not having heard the man approach and Jaskier rubs his fingers into his palms, trying to dry the sudden clammy feeling at the fear of being caught. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“I keep trying to put a bell on him.” Lambert claps Eskel on the shoulder in a grip that would likely have brought Jaskier to his knees. 

“I’m not a damn cat.” Eskel counters, glaring at Lambert who laughs as he plucks his beer from the bar before ambling towards the table. Eskel turns back to Jaskier and gives an apologetic smile but gratefully lets the subject drop as dinner is served.

“I thought you said we was having lasagna?” Ciri eyes her plate skeptically.

“Said we _were_ having lasagna,” Yennefer corrects. “And we are.” 

“There’s green things in it. Lasagna isn’t supposed to be green mommy.” Ciri argues as she offers up her fork, the offending green spinach.

“I think I’m with the kid on this one. What’s wrong with normal red lasagna, Geralt?” Lambert complains from down the table, eyeing a skewered piece of mushroom on his fork. Eskel hides his snort of laughter in a swig from his beer, his composure cracking when he catches Triss’ grin across from him.

Geralt barely registers any of it, he’s more concerned with the way Jaskier is strategically cutting his into slivers, alternating bites of salad so he can’t be sure he’s _not_ eating the lasagna. 

Geralt mentally shakes himself, he’d made it in hopes of enticing Jaskier but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. He knew Jaskier was eating, he’d seen him choke down that dry grilled chicken sandwich just last night. He was overreacting and he knew it, even Yennefer knew it if the smug curl of her lips as she catches him surreptitiously watching Jaskier was anything to go by.

Ciri is distraught when Jaskier declines a piece of the pie she made. “Not a fan of peach pie. I’m sure it’s delicious though.” Jaskier declines, fingers pinching his stomach until his eyes burn, until the hurt overwhelms the tantalizing smell of homemade pie, until he’s stronger than his weakness.

“But if you don’t try it you don’t know you don’t like it.” Ciri argues. Jaskier doesn’t answer, his mind too clouded with pain to try and decipher her many don’ts. 

“Cirilla.” The use of her full name brings her up short and she pouts into her pie. 

“Jaskier.” He stops at Geralt’s call, his back to him otherwise Geralt would have seen the flash of defeat on his face. He’d made short work of clean up, hoping to slip away before Geralt would feel pressured to maintain his tradition of presenting Jaskier with leftovers. 

Jaskier turns and finds several steps behind him, a familiar takeout container in his hand and Jaskier forces a smile onto his face, forcing himself not to glance at the object of his loathing. “Did I forget to do something?” Jaskier asks but Geralt frowns at his question.

“No.” Geralt frowns at Jaskier’s question, if anything he’d done too much, practically frantic in his cleaning. Geralt wants to reassure him, to ask him why he’s grown quieter with each passing week but he fears Jaskier will answer because he feels he must, not because he wants to. 

Geralt holds out the container, forcing Jaskier to finally look at it, his lips peeling his smile back into a grimace as he reaches out to take it. Geralt made it more out of habit, clearly Jaskier wasn’t taken with tonight’s dinner but he’d done it for so many weeks he found himself closing the container before he realized Jaskier might not even want it.

“Thanks.” Geralt’s grip doesn’t loosen on the container as he wonders what Jaskier must think, him forcing leftovers on him each week, coming back to himself when Jaskier’s smile falls he all but pushes the container into Jaskier’s hands. 

Jaskier ducks his head, hurrying from the White Wolf and it’s only after he’s gone that Geralt places the look he’d seen flash across Jaskier’s face, hurt.

o~O~o

“You’re leaving awful early.” Betty comments as Jaskier heads down the front walk. Even though it’s early she’s dressed for the day and already has her sun hat on, hose in hand as she waters the flowers. 

“Just headed to work. Have a great day!” Jaskier calls as he continues down the sidewalk. It’s been three weeks since he put his plan into place and he’s not only gotten the timing down, his body no longer protests the hour walk it takes him to get to the museum. 

He’s tempted to drive this morning, so far it hadn’t been a problem to keep his three jobs from overlapping, but this weekend was proving to be a marathon as both Friday and Saturday he had all three each day. He’d made it through Friday but was dragging this morning, even the peanut butter he’d allowed himself with his apple wasn’t putting a pep in his step. 

But this was his plan and he was sticking to it, he has to so Geralt will stop sending plates of food home with him. He can’t believe how long it took him to realize Geralt was sending him home with plates of food so they wouldn’t be subjected to him stuffing himself at dinner, he’s surprised they kept inviting him back. But he’ll be better, he _is_ better and it’s all thanks to his plan.

Jaskier is still leary that Valdo will find him, keeping his phone clutched in his hand he sticks to populated streets instead of the shortcuts but he doesn’t need any shortcuts, he needs all the walking he can get. Triss had fawned over his new clothes but he knew she was just being nice, but soon his shirts won’t cling to his stomach and he’ll fit back into his old pants.

Jaskier runs over his schedule in his head again, he’ll have enough time if he jogs home to shower before going to his shift at the grocery store and from there he’ll have to head directly to the White Wolf. Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to walk to the grocery store, he knew he could use the exercise and had even mapped how long it would take to walk but the fear that Valdo would see him is enough to curb the idea. For now. 

Jaskier regrets walking to the museum shortly after he arrives, today’s a field trip day which means he spends it showing students around the museum, the wire tunnels that arc and criss-cross over the outside area, the skateless skatepark and the three story slide. He normally loves these days but by the end of his shift he’s not sure how he’s going to drag himself home much less through his stint at the grocery store. 

Jaskier can’t bring himself to jog home even though he knows he needs to. Once there he barters with himself that he won’t lay down in his bed and skip work at the grocery store and instead gets to eat an apple with peanut butter. 

There’s no time for a shower as much as he wishes there were, but he’s already late and he needs to leave three minutes ago if he has any hope of making it to work on time, still chewing his apple as he heads for his car, panic spurring him on.

Jaskier sends up a silent thanks that it’s not truck day which means he doesn’t have to unload heavy boxes from pallets, instead he’s stocking the shelves and no one notices his slower movements or the few times he braces a hand on the shelves as the store swims around him. 

He’s counting down the minutes until he can leave, the thought of sitting in his car, even if it is just to drive, is enough to make his knees weak but the relief is short lived when he realizes he never grabbed his guitar. Shame fills him, he’ll have to go home, making him late to play all because he was so focused on eating he forgot his responsibilities. 

Anxiety thrums through Jaskier as he clocks out, skin crawling with the day’s work he longs for a shower, certain that he smells. Speeding back to the apartment each minute ticking by on the clock reminding him of how he’s not only let Geralt down, anybody who came to the White Wolf expecting to see him play is probably growing more agitated by the minute.

Jaskier peels himself out of his work polo the second he’s through his apartment door and knows he’s not going anywhere without a shower. Shoes and jeans trail behind him, the cold water a shock that spasms his muscles awake as he sluices soap and water over his body. 

“You’re late.” Triss greets him as Jaskier weaves his way through the White Wolf, hair still wet and dripping, clothes sticking uncomfortably to his damp body but none of it matters because he is, in fact, late. Yennefer watches as he walks past the bar, it’s clear she wants to say something but all the seats are filled and drink orders don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

“I’m sorry I know I’m late won’t happen again.” Jaskier’s words trip over themselves, Geralt’s frown only deepening. The relief he’d felt at Jaskier’s arrival is replaced as he gets a closer look, Jaskier’s flushed cheeks and ragged breaths only serve to support Geralt’s concern.

“Are you ok? You don’t–” Geralt doesn’t get the chance to finish.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Sorry you had to deal with people.” Geralt can’t make sense of Jaskier’s words but before he can ask Jaskier is continuing onto the stage, slipping into his musician persona that Geralt still marvels at. In front of the crowd with a guitar in his hand Jaskier’s real smile comes easy, gone are the rushed words as he riles the crowd, settling the guitar strap over his shoulder. 

“Everything ok?” Yennefer calls, her eyes looking past Geralt to Jaskier who’s launched into his first song of the night. 

“He says so.” When Yennefer doesn’t smirk at his worry, Geralt turns back to Jaskier, his reassurances a cold comfort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers. Readers!  
> I am *so* excited to give you guys the next chapter I don't know that I can make it all the way to Wednesday. But a Tuesday update means a longer wait for you until Saturday again. Alas, it is up to you. 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, I love hearing what you guys think. I live off them all week. <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt nods at Eskel who’s staring at him from across the room, noting the other man’s concern; he wasn’t the only one to notice something was off about Jaskier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a resounding sound off of Tuesday (And truly guys that just made me so happy to see how much you want to know what happens next) I give you...the next chapter one day early.

It feels like a long blink though Jaskier is certain his eyes are open, his fingers fumble over the strings as darkness consumes his vision, blacking out the bar before him, though he can still hear his music, feel it thrumming through him from the speakers. 

He finishes the song, grateful he’s on a familiar one, the words a part of him so he doesn’t have to think as he admits to himself it's time to take a break, just sit for a few minutes until the world comes back to him. 

Geralt’s frown deepens, Jaskier never messes up this song, it’s one of the more popular ones and it’s clear he’s well versed in playing it as it’s usually the one he’s most animated during, but not tonight. 

Geralt nods at Eskel who’s staring at him from across the room, noting the other man’s concern; he wasn’t the only one to notice something was off about Jaskier. 

The song is drawing to a close when Geralt starts moving, intending to catch Jaskier’s attention and pull him for a break, when Jaskier announces his own intentions, “Just a quick break and we’ll be right back at it.” 

Geralt turns, scanning the crowded room, Jaskier would never call his own break, not unless something was wrong. Or someone was here. Geralt easily picks Lambert and Eskel from the crowd but both are too far away to ask so Geralt starts searching the faces again, hoping he’s wrong.

Jaskier feels like he’s on fire, his body burning up as he staggers from the small stage, bitterly thinking he shouldn’t have wasted time with a shower as he’s broken out in a cold sweat. Black eats at the edges of his vision, giving everything a softness he doesn't trust. Jaskier trails his fingers over the wall as he heads for his seat at the bar, he just needs a drink of water, just needs a minute to cool down and he’ll be fine.

Geralt turns back to Jaskier, if Marx is here there’s no doubt he’ll seek him out and he has no intention of letting Marx anywhere near Jaskier. In the dim of the bar Jaskier looks pale, the wall seeming to be the only thing keeping him up as he makes his unsteady way towards him. Geralt gets two steps, close enough to see Jaskier’s body put up its final fight before he goes limp and crumples to the floor.

Dropping next to Jaskier Geralt’s knees bark in pain as they meet the hard floor, but Geralt’s hands ghost over Jaskier’s arms, afraid to touch him. Eskel is at his back, urging the crowd to back off, giving them much needed room as Yennefer kneels on Jaskier’s other side.

Jaskier groans, he’s so tired, he just wants to sleep but it’s loud and there’s someone calling his name. Forcing open his eyes he realizes he’s still at the White Wolf and Geralt is leaning over him, features pulled tight in concern.

“Always so serious.” The words slur and he forces his arms to move, to push him up and they do their best but they quiver and threaten not to hold him. Geralt and Yennefer frown over him at each other, worrying he hit his head when he fell.

“Just take a minute, you’re likely to pass out again if you get up too quick.” Jaskier smiles at Yennefer’s mom-tone.

“I’m fine, just tripped.” Jaskier reassures her, shoving unsteadily to his feet. Dark rushes in again, Jaskier’s arm flails for the wall, for something to ground him as the rushing in his ears drowns out all other noise, including Geralt’s words.

“I’m going to help you to the office, lean into me.” Geralt doesn’t wait for Jaskier to respond before he wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist, his concern that his arm can wrap nearly entirely around is forgotten as Jaskier tenses.

“Geralt?” Jaskier doesn’t see the concerned glance Yennefer and Geralt exchange at his plea. 

“I’m right here Jask. You’re safe.” Jaskier nods, doing his best to stumble along when Geralt starts walking. Jaskier’s vision creeps back in as they head down the hall, shame burning his cheeks at how closely he’s pressed to Geralt’s side, but he doesn’t dare risk pushing him away and making a fool of himself again. 

Geralt eases Jaskier down onto the couch, stepping back he looks the slight man over, noting all the signs he missed in the dim light of the bar. Jaskier is dangerously pale, tired blue eyes rest above dark smudges and Jaskier’s arms are wrapped around his stomach in a painful hold. 

The door opens and Yennefer slips in, a glass and plate in hand. “Here, you need to eat something.” Yennefer says, passing Jaskier the plate and glass. He sets aside his usual plain grilled chicken sandwich, gulping down what he thinks is water only to find it’s Sprite, his mouth twisting as he pulls the glass away.

The carbonation and sweetness burn, his stomach churning at the unexpected intrusion. There’s nowhere to set the glass so he keeps his hold of it even though he has no intention of further drinking. Yennefer picks the plate up from the couch and sets it on Jaskier’s lap, a silent repeat of her earlier suggestion, this time a command. 

“I’m not hungry.” Jaskier protests but doesn’t trust himself to move the plate, he’s already resting the glass on his knee in hopes of masking his trembling hands. Yennefer and Geralt exchange concerned looks, they can’t force him but that doesn’t mean they can’t strongly encourage him.

“If you aren’t up to playing tonight that’s fine.” Geralt’s words earn a resigned sigh from Jaskier who picks up the chicken sandwich, sucking in his stomach in the hopes of silencing the growl that threatens. It’s perfect and hot and Jaskier wants another one on the first bite alone; wants to eat sandwich after sandwich until his stomach is round and heavy with them, until the nagging hunger is muffled by a new pain, a pain from being so full. 

The thought disgusts him, the second bite turning to dust and paste in his mouth that he fights to swallow. What must they think of him, tearing into it like an animal, cheeks bulging as he can’t consume it fast enough. Jaskier drops the sandwich back to the plate, hand spasming over his stomach, cramps threatening to double him over.

“Geralt. Can.” Yennefer barks, knowing that look from long nights spent holding Ciri’s hair back. Yennefer sets the plate to the side, the glass on the floor by her feet as Geralt shoves the trashcan between Jaskier’s legs just as he loses his tenuous hold. 

There’s not much to come up but the soda burns on its return, Yennefer rubs comforting circles into his back, his arms wrapped around his aching stomach. “Sorry.” Jaskier rasps. He hopes they don’t ask what he’s apologizing for, there’s so much and he doesn’t have it in him to list them all, not at the moment.

“I’ll take you home.” Jaskier wants to protest, his thoughts as sluggish as his limbs and maybe he does as Geralt continues. “You’re sick. You need to rest, you should’ve called in.” Yennefer is the only one that catches the wince at Geralt’s words and she frowns up at him, jerking her head to Jaskier as she mouths, _Can._

“Can. You _can_ call in.” Geralt corrects, Jaskier starts to nod but the motion only serves to set his stomach turning once more and he aborts the motion. 

“I’ll get your guitar.” Yennefer collects the plate and glass before leaving the room. Jaskier leans back against the couch, the smell wafting from the trashcan giving his stomach ideas about contents it doesn't have. Geralt wishes he had the easy touch of Yennefer, that he could take her spot on the couch and comfort him, but he’s not sure Jaskier wouldn’t cower away much less appreciate the intrusion so he does his best not to loom as they wait. 

Yennefer reappears, eyes flicking between the two and Geralt would swear she almost looks disappointed in him but only says, “Eskel is putting it in the trunk. You have your key?” Geralt nods, Yennefer claimed it was a safety measure in case she ever locked her keys in her car but Geralt had a feeling it was more than that. 

“You text if you need anything, ok? If you’re not feeling up to it don’t worry about dinner tomorrow, you’ll be missed but you should just worry about getting better.” Yennefer cards her fingers through his hair, voice gentle but firm and Jaskier murmurs his understanding, tired eyes blinking slowly as he fights the sleep that threatens to pull him under. 

“Maybe you should bring the car around, Eskel can help me bring him out.” Yennefer’s words have the opposite effect as Jaskier struggles to rise, shame resurfacing as he remembers Geralt’s arm around his waist, struggling to carry him down the hall. 

Geralt moves the trashcan before Jaskier can trip, a hesitant arm stretched out, ready to steady him should he fall but Jaskier stubbornly pushes to his feet, a bracing hand on the couch arm when he wavers. “I can drive myself.” Jaskier’s back is to Yennefer or he would have seen the raised eyebrow at his delayed protest. 

“You fainted. You’re not driving.” Geralt counters. 

“Women faint, _I_ passed out.” Jaskier protests, Geralt’s mouth twitching into a smile. Jaskier wants to reassure Geralt and Yennefer that he can drive, that he doesn’t mean to burden them more but he’s not actually sure he should be driving. The thought that he might very well wreck Lambert’s car, a car he has no hope of fixing, is enough to silence his tongue and so he starts his slow way from the office, limbs uncooperative and shaky.

Jaskier murmurs a thanks as he passes Yennefer who reminds him again to text if he needs anything, Geralt follows with a critical eye in case Jaskier decides to ‘pass out’ again. 

It seems even without Yennefer’s asking, Eskel moved her car so it’s waiting right outside the back door for them. Jaskier circles around, careful not to touch as though his fingers would mar the paint. Jaskier settles into the seat, noting how immaculate Yennefer keeps her car as he buckles his seat belt. 

Jaskier’s grin is tired as he watches Geralt fumble in the dark, adjusting Yennefer’s settings so he can fit behind the wheel without his knees bent nearly to his chin. The radio is already set at a low volume, filling a silence that might otherwise be awkward as Geralt turns down familiar streets. 

All too soon Geralt is pulling up before Jaskier’s building, having spent most of the ride turning over words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Early on Jaskier had tipped his head back against the seat, eyes closed as he took shallow, steadying breaths, trying to stave off another bout of sickness and Geralt takes the opportunity to study Jaskier. His arms still hugging his stomach, the sharp lines of his face drawn tighter as he fights his protesting belly and he hates the idea of carelessly dropping him off and leaving but Jaskier isn’t his and so he softly calls the man’s name.

Jaskier's breathes deep, seeming to need to gather the energy to open his eyes but once he takes in the stopped car parked in front of a familiar building his eyes widen with a soft, “Oh.” His fingers fumble for the unfamiliar seat belt release, not wanting to take anymore of Geralt’s time. 

“Sorry again about tonight, won’t happen again and thanks for the ride.” 

“Don’t apologize for being sick.” Geralt chides. Jaskier nods and slips from the car; too late Geralt remembers his guitar in the trunk and silently curses himself as he watches Jaskier’s dragging steps up the walk, his left side weighed down by the case. 

Only after Jaskier is safely inside does Geralt drive away, mind replaying how he should have been the one to retrieve Jaskier’s guitar and see him to the door but there his mind faltered again and again. Jaskier wasn’t his and there was no reason for him to follow him beyond that door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say it every chapter but with every chapter I'm reminded again and again that I have *the* best readers. Which means I'm going to keep bragging about you all and dusting the awesome from your shoulders.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier glances at the clock again, feasibly he could leave now and get to the White Wolf early, he should make up for having left early last week, but he can’t quite bring himself to face them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to the fantastic VeritasRose for betaing this monster.

Jaskier wakes the next morning to texts from Yennefer asking if he’s ok and threatening to call the cops for a wellness check then to drive over if he doesn’t respond. He quickly reassures her he’s feeling much better, grateful he’s a better liar through text than he is in person. 

In truth he’s still tired and though he rages at himself to get up and be useful, to not waste today, his eyes slip closed and he falls asleep once more. It’s nearly noon by the time he drags himself from bed, the unpleasant sensation of his stomach eating itself and the lingering smell of the bar’s floor enough to get him moving.

The shower wakes him, mouthfuls of hot water still warming him from the inside out as he wanders into his kitchen, wondering if he should make a salad. Sunday dinner is in a few hours and he’s made a fruit salad to bring, though it wouldn’t necessarily be missed if he didn’t go.

Jaskier stands absently in his kitchen warring over what he should do. He looked forward to Sundays for the feeling it gave him to see everyone, to feel like he belonged but after his little spell last night he didn’t want to deal with the many questions and hovering he was sure he would receive. No, he would skip it and sleep, but that also meant he should wait on his salad, he didn’t need food if he wasn’t going to be doing anything. 

Jaskier fills a glass with water, drinking it in quick gulps he fills it again and is halfway through when an unfamiliar knock sounds at his door. It’s not Betty, he knows that much but he also can’t imagine who else would be knocking on his door. 

Crossing the kitchen on his toes, Jaskier lines his eye up to the peephole and freezes at what he finds, Geralt looking uncertain in the hallway. Jaskier flicks the deadbolt before he realizes he’s in soft pants and a t-shirt worn nearly see through but there’s nothing he can do as he’s sure Geralt heard the turning of the lock and if he doesn’t open the door the man’s likely to think he’s locking him _out_. 

Jaskier unlocks the handle and opens the door, doing his best to look casual when his stomach is twisting. “Geralt good morning, er afternoon. Hello.” Jaskier’s rambled greeting earns him a smile.

“Good afternoon, Jaskier. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Geralt makes no move to come inside and Jaskier appreciates the gesture, certain he would stay right outside his door for the conversation if Jaskier never voiced an invitation.

“Not at all, would you like to come in.” Jaskier steps back, hand subconsciously pulling his pants back up when they slip from his hips at the movement. “On your way to the White Wolf?” Jaskier asks, noticing the covered dish in Geralt’s hands.

Geralt blushes as he says, “I made you soup.” 

Oh. _Oh._ Jaskier’s eyes widen as he notes the distinct use of the word ‘made’ and the obviously-from-home container. This wasn’t take-out soup, Geralt meant he spent his morning making Jaskier soup. 

“Thank you. You shouldn’t have. I mean I appreciate it and I’m sure it’s delicious but I didn’t mean for you to waste your morning.” Jaskier’s mouth snaps shut with an audible clacking of his teeth but Geralt doesn’t mention it, seeing as Jaskier is already flustered enough.

Jaskier takes the container, warmth seeping into his hands, confirming Geralt had made it and brought it directly over. Taking a few steps into the kitchen he sets it on the counter, hitching up his pants when they slip dangerously low. 

Geralt is frowning at the action, something seeming off but he can’t place what, when Jaskier turns, features falling as he takes in Geralt’s frown. Any courage he had about inviting Geralt to stay, his manners dictating he should ask him to share the soup, gone as he realizes this for what it is. Geralt had wasted his morning making him soup so they wouldn’t be subjected to watching Jaskier embarrass himself at dinner, watch him give into his weakness once again. 

“Thanks again. I promise I won’t let it happen again.” Jaskier swallows hard, wishing Geralt would leave but he’d never voice it. 

Geralt nods, confused by the sudden change in Jaskier’s tone, but then again he did probably think he caught Geralt staring at his ass and he was too polite, too timid, to say anything. Geralt had hoped Jaskier would invite him to stay, even if it was only for a few minutes but it’s apparent he’s uncomfortable and should just leave before he makes things worse.

“It’s really not a problem, just get feeling better.” Geralt turns and shows himself out, head hanging as he thinks of how disgusting he must look, he _knows_ or at least can make a damn good guess at how Marx treated Jaskier and here he is being little better in his own space.

Jaskier relocks the door with numb fingers, taking a shuddering breath, he will remember this, he _needs_ to remember this so he’ll be better. Turning, his eyes land on the container of soup, a subtle reminder that the plan is working, he just needs to stick to it.

Jaskier plucks it from the counter, holding it in both hands he relishes the warmth that seeps into his lately perpetually cold fingers before moving to the fridge and setting it on the shelf next to his lettuce. He’ll walk it over to Betty later, maybe she won’t notice he doesn’t...leave. With a defeated sigh Jaskier’s head drops forward, his car is still at the White Wolf and he’s sure Geralt won’t appreciate him using his parking lot like a commuter lot. 

Jaskier trudges back to the bedroom, dragging on jeans and his converse he reminds himself he should walk anyway, he’s not going to get better if he doesn’t. As he leaves, hand patting his pocket to ensure he has his keys he eyes the fridge, knowing the salad that waits within but first he has to earn it.

That night when a subdued dinner is over, the small found family leaves to find their parking lot one car shorter than when they’d entered and though none mention it, they all feel disappointed he didn’t at least come in to say hello.

o~O~o

Jaskier makes it through another week, reassuring Yennefer he’s feeling better and helping Betty hang the mumms she bought from a shepherd’s hook. Summer is creeping towards fall and though to Jaskier it feels more like winter, he’s always cold and walking to the museum is getting more miserable but it’s working, he'd had to buy a belt to keep the pants he bought with Yennefer from slipping down. Next time they go shopping he won’t embarrass her, he’ll know exactly what size he needs and it will be one she won’t be ashamed to see him picking out. 

Anxiety clawed at Jaskier all Friday, Macee finally cornered him and asked if he was ok when he took the class he was chaperoning to the wrong floor for the three story slide. 

Jaskier glances at the clock again, feasibly he could leave now and get to the White Wolf early, he _should_ make up for having left early last week, but he can’t quite bring himself to face them yet. His guitar rests in its case, he’d finally given up even practicing when he kept missing chords, too twitchy to sit still. And then there’s Geralt’s container, clean and waiting to be returned, which he should take Sunday so he doesn’t embarrass Geralt further, though he’s sure Geralt assumes it was devoured not long after he left.

Jaskier debates walking to the White Wolf, the roads to get there are busy enough but the thought of walking them back home in the early hours of the morning are enough to stall the idea, even he knows that’s dangerous. 

With a sigh Jaskier forces himself to move Geralt’s container from his guitar case and onto the counter, he’ll return it Sunday, before gathering his case and leaving, being early is better than pacing a hole in the carpet. 

Yennefer eyes Jaskier when he steps through the door, searching for any indication he isn’t better and is just dragging himself in out of some misguided notion. “You’re early.” Yennefer accuses by way of greeting. 

Jaskier shrugs, floundering for a response that doesn’t make him sound as pathetic as he feels but it seems the gesture is enough as she turns back to the drinks she was preparing. 

“You feeling better?” Eskel asks and Jaskier thinks maybe he was right in his hesitance to arrive early.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Jaskier offers a smile as he edges toward the stage, getting stopped by some eager fans who want to know where they can find his music online. 

Geralt pauses at his desk when he hears familiar strains of music, a glance at the clock confirms it’s too early for Jaskier but it doesn’t stop Geralt from heading down the hall. Jaskier is in fact playing, a few of his ‘groupies’ as Lambert likes to call them are eagerly videoing him, but what Geralt notices is the ease that Jaskier seems to be at, the anxiety that usually tenses him is missing. 

Eskel catches Yennefer’s eye and raises a brow, smirking as he glances at Geralt who’s taken up his usual place leaning against the wall next to the hallway, having only eyes for Jaskier. Yennefer shakes her head back, they would eventually figure it out, they had to since there was a betting pool and she wasn’t as cynical as Lambert who’d bet they wouldn’t get together. 

o~O~o

“I thought you said these were potatoes?” Lambert’s grumble comes from down the table, eyeing his plate that had just made it back to him. 

“They are. Scalloped potatoes. It’s–” Betty had helped Jaskier assemble the dish before sending him on his way so he could cook it at the White Wolf and serve them fresh, or best as she liked to say. 

“Potatoes and cheese you heathen and when have you snubbed your nose at the food put before you?” Eskel snaps and even Lambert looks chastised as glances are exchanged up and down the table. Eskel knew Lambert could be rude, it was his default setting after all, but Eskel had observed enough about Jaskier over the past few months that he was certain too many more of Lambert’s comments and irrevocable damage would be done. 

“Soooo,” Triss draws out the word, tearing her gaze from Lambert she turns to Yennefer beside her. “You ready for your trip?” 

“As much as I love the bartender trade show Geralt’s going to have to go in my place.” Yennefer sighs, turning to Geralt who looks unamused by the prospect. Triss starts laughing and even Eskel and Lambert are helpless to stop their own broad grins.

“This I’ve got to see.” Eskel says, earning a flat look from Geralt that clearly tells him no, he really doesn’t.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to go to the shows and that’s why Yennefer started going?” Triss questions and Jaskier gets the feeling it’s a well worn story that they all know but enjoy telling whenever the opportunity arises.

“I’m allowed–” Geralt grumbles but Yennefer cuts him off.

“ _Technically_ allowed. Who goes to a trade show with hundreds of vendors and manages to purchase _nothing_ and return with zero ideas.” Jaskier tries to hide his laugh behind his hand when it earns Geralt’s attention.

“Don’t forget he spent eight hours there before he came home with nothing.” Eskel adds in and Jaskier is helpless to muffle the laughs as he pictures Geralt stalking around an event space with his usual glower, it was no wonder he didn’t come home with anything, it was doubtful anyone dared approach.

“Maybe you can get a list of vendors before the show and contact them, they can just give him the information.” Eskel reasons, trying to take some of the sting out of the teasing when Geralt looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah, we can pin a note to him like we used to do with Ciri.” Triss teases.

“Hmm.” Geralt turns to his plate, clearly wanting to move on from this line of conversation. Jaskier reluctantly turns to his own, the caramelized ham and swiss sliders Geralt made smelled delicious, sweet rolls piled with ham and cheese but his plate had been returned to him with two sliders and a spoonful of his rich scalloped potatoes, no salad in site this dinner. It’s paltry compared to the six sandwiches stacked on each of the guy’s plates, small mountains of potatoes next to them but it’s still far too much.

“Why can’t you go?” Jaskier blurts, trying to delay. 

“It’s a conference day at Ciri’s school so they’re off and the sitter I usually use canceled.” Ciri doesn’t seem the least bit upset by this news, happily working her way through her sandwich, short legs swinging. 

“I could babysit.” Jaskier offers before he fully thinks the thought through. There’s an expectancy at the table, Ciri suddenly interested in the conversation and Jaskier thinks maybe he should have voiced his offer privately. Not to mention it was the first time since he’d gotten the grocery store job that he had an entire day off from all three works. 

“If you want, I mean. Or not, cause you don’t know me.” Jaskier plucks one of the sliders from his plate, taking a bite if only to stop himself from speaking but the sandwich is delicious and Jaskier has to fight to keep himself from devouring the whole thing in a few bites. 

Jaskier misses the taken aback look Yennefer gives him, the rest of the table equally confused by his sudden retreat within himself, seeming to force himself to eat. 

“Please mommy.” Ciri quietly pleads, tugging on Yennefer’s sleeve. 

Yennefer shushes Ciri before turning to Jaskier, “I’ve little doubt that Ciri would be safe in your care but you don’t have to, you know this don’t you Jaskier?” 

Surprised blue eyes settle on her, “I know. I mean, yes. But I don’t mind.” Jaskier fumbles. 

“If you’re sure. I have to leave early but I shouldn’t be back too late, the conference ends at 5 and it’s about an hour drive.” Yennefer thinks aloud. She did trust Jaskier with Ciri, that wasn’t the problem at all, she was more concerned about his sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s fine by me. What do you say Ciri? Up for spending the day with me?” Jaskier tries, the words a little strained but Ciri’s beaming smile seems to reassure him. “What do you say we head to the museum? As long as it’s ok with mom.” Jaskier is quick to add on, looking to Yennefer.

“Only if you promise to listen to whatever Jaskier says, no running off.” Yennefer levels a look at Ciri that has the girl straightening in her chair.

“I promise.” She’s so solemn in her answer Jaskier can’t help but smile. 

“Carseat?” Jaskier asks and Triss’ laugh tells him all he needs to know about his question.

“I don’t need a carseat.” Ciri whips around affronted at the implication. 

“ _I_ do. What with you driving us and all, got to make sure I’m safe and secure.” Jaskier winks and Ciri’s peals of laughter are contagious, setting the others chuckling. 

Jaskier forces himself to finish one slider, surreptitiously pinching his hips to remind himself why he shouldn’t even be eating it in the first place, but the potatoes prove to be too rich and too much, his stomach cramping by the time dinner is done. 

“Sorry you didn’t like dinner.” Geralt apologizes as he frowns at Jaskier’s mostly full plate.

“No it was delicious.” Jaskier is quick to correct him, hating the idea that Geralt might think he didn’t like his cooking or worse, that he’s ungrateful, but before he can continue a particularly vicious cramp grips him and he presses a hand to his stomach, hating how the motion draws Geralt’s attention.

“Are you ok?” There’s such concern in those golden eyes that Jaskier knows he doesn’t deserve.

“I’m fine.” He bites out, continuing when it’s clear Geralt doesn’t believe him. “Guess the potatoes were a little much.” Embarrassment burns Jaskier’s cheeks at the admittance, Geralt was praising him for eating less but he didn’t deserve it, he’d only stopped because his stomach ached. 

Geralt feels helpless, Yennefer was always better when it came to these things and right now Jaskier is clearly trying to mask pain and Geralt has a feeling it isn’t the potatoes making Jaskier sick as he barely managed two bites of them. He’s certain it’s the slider Jaskier forced himself to finish even though it was obviously making him ill but he wouldn’t dare offend Geralt. 

“I can drive you home if you’re not feeling up to it.” Geralt offers.

“No, really, I’m fine.” Jaskier flashes a grin but it’s tight, his jaw clenched behind it. Geralt nods, not wanting Jaskier to leave quite yet but not having the words to keep him. It doesn’t matter as Yennefer calls his name, pulling his attention as she confirms that she’ll text him the details about tomorrow, ending their conversation. 

It’s only as he’s driving home, one hand pressed to his protesting stomach does Jaskier realize Geralt didn’t send him home with a plate, the plan is working and he’s finally getting better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments. I do so cherish each of them and they get me through the harder days.  
> Until Wednesday dear readers, stay safe.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer gives one last look before leaving them to their day and Jaskier tries to ignore the sudden anxiety that wells in her absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! *dusts awesomeness off you*  
> You are all amazing and I can't express how much I love your comments. I know you already give me your time by reading and appreciate the extra moments you spare with your thougths <3
> 
> Also, huge thank you to VeritasRose, the best...well everything a girl could have.

"If you need me for anything just call. Really, it won't be a big deal if I need to leave early." Yennefer reassures. As arranged it's early but Ciri looks wide awake and is doing her level best to stay at Yennefer's side as she marvels at the apartment around her.

"I'm sure we'll be fine." Jaskier reassures once more, trying not to take it personally. 

"If," Yennefer hesitates but it needs to be said, _she_ needs to say it. "If it's anything pressing, call Geralt." Jaskier understands the implications Yennefer can't bring herself to finish as she glances to Ciri.

"I won't let that happen." Jaskier swears. 

Yennefer holds Jaskier's stare for a moment before kneeling in front of Ciri. "Sound off."

"Listen to whatever Jaskier says." Ciri starts. "Don't wander off. Always hold his hand and if we get severed, find a worker and give them your number."

"Separated, if you get _separated._ " Yennefer corrects as Jaskier tries to keep a straight face. "I love you." Ciri throws her arms around Yennefer's neck as Yennefer wraps her in a hug. Ciri pulls back and steps to Jaskier's side, her tiny hand slipping into his.

Yennefer gives one last look before leaving them to their day and Jaskier tries to ignore the sudden anxiety that wells in her absence.

Ciri is fascinated by his guitar propped in the corner, marveling when she learns Jaskier not only knows how to play it but plays a few cover songs she knows. He’s fairly certain she would stay there until Yennefer returned, listening to him play songs but trying to explain to Yennefer that’s what he considered babysitting was more than enough for Jaskier to set his guitar aside.

“What do you say to some breakfast before we head to the museum?” Yennefer had handed him a folded stack of bills, apologizing that Ciri hadn’t had breakfast yet and this should cover any incidentals throughout the stay. He’d tried not to let his hurt show, did she really think he couldn’t afford to feed Ciri for a day? He stowed the money in his wallet but had no intention of touching it.

“I usually have cereal but sometimes mommy lets me have PopTarts.” Ciri says, distracted by his guitar. Jaskier’s mouth waters sickeningly at the thought of PopTarts, the sheer amount of calories in one pastry let alone one package is enough to turn his stomach.

“I was thinking we might get something out.” Jaskier offers, knowing Ciri needs more than peanut butter and an apple. Ciri is amenable to the idea and with a final check that he has his phone they set off for a day of adventure.

“How come you don’t gots breakfast?” Ciri asks, sliding into the booth across from Jaskier, noting he doesn’t have anything before him.

“I already had my breakfast.” Jaskier had dragged himself from bed, a dull ache lingering deep in his stomach from the night before but the shower had helped and he’d stuck with a light breakfast of a banana with a thin layer of peanut butter. 

Ciri eyes him before awkwardly working her plastic knife at her pancakes, shredding them more than cutting but the pieces are manageable when she’s done. Ciri keeps up easy chatter throughout breakfast and by the end Jaskier knows her favorite color, blue, her favorite class, P.E. and that she likes when Geralt hums Farewell Wanderlust but thinks it sounds better with words. 

In truth Jaskier was a little nervous to take Ciri to the museum, not because he didn’t think she would behave, but because it hadn’t occurred to him that they might become separated until Yennefer said something. Which is why he made it a point to introduce Ciri to all the people he knew there, which happened to be most of the staff. 

They started with Ciri’s favorites from her field trip, the untippable chairs and the three story slide but Jaskier knows the best view is from the outdoor hamster tubes. He’s given tours so often he sometimes forgets how amazing this place is but Ciri’s hesitance in climbing out, seemingly into the air but trusting him enough to follow and then crawling through the tunnels almost faster than he can keep up reminds him how much he loved this place when he first started.

Jaskier realizes he has no idea how long they’ve spent in the museum when Ciri’s stomach lets out a loud growl. Checking his phone he grins at Ciri, “You’re right on time for lunch.” 

“Do we have to?” Ciri looks longingly around the museum and Jaskier debates staying a while longer but the familiar thrumming running through him warns him it’s not a good idea. 

“We’ll come back another day.” Jaskier offers and he thinks Ciri might protest as she looks around them but a reluctant hand reaches up to take his without further protest and Jaskier knows they can’t leave quite yet.

Jaskier’s phone is poised for the moment the elevator opens on the roof, Ciri’s surprise at what awaits them the perfect picture to send to Yennefer with a brief note that they’re doing fine and about to have lunch. Ciri bounds off the elevator, making it several steps before she catches herself and returns to Jaskier’s side, bouncing in place as she fights the urge to explore. 

Jaskier has a feeling she won’t eat until she gets a chance to explore the rooftop and he doesn’t blame her between the schoolbus sticking off the side of the roof, the ferris wheel and the pond with stepping stones. She starts with the ferris wheel, getting a full view of the roof from the top of the wheel’s path before she insists on inching her way up through the bus so she can look out the windshield before she’s racing back down the aisle after seeing just how high up they were. Jaskier videos her skipping across the pond on the stepping stones and sends it to Yennefer before they take one last spin on the ferris wheel and settle into lunch.

“How come you aren’t eating none?” Ciri had decided on nachos, though it was a tough decision when she learned they had hot dogs. 

“I’m not hungry, had a big breakfast.” Jaskier tears his gaze away from Ciri’s mess of nachos, the greasy hunks of seasoned meat turning his stomach and he takes long sips of his water, hoping to quell it. 

“Ready to go?” Ciri nods and slips from her chair, Jaskier gathers her tray with his free hand and dumps their trash at the nearest trash can, guiding Ciri in the opposite direction of the elevators. “I thought we’d take a faster way down.” It’s then that Ciri spots the slide and her eyes light up. It won’t take them all the way to the ground floor but it will take them down several stories and they can catch the elevator from there. 

Ciri’s giggling wildly and begging, “Again! Again!” As soon as she reaches the bottom but settles by the time they reach the ground floor courtesy of the elevator. 

They still have a few hours before Yennefer is expected to pick Ciri up and Jaskier is more than a little unsure what to fill the time with. He doesn’t have a TV so any thoughts of a movie are out but they’re back at the apartments and Jaskier decides he’ll just have to figure it out from inside.

“Well hello Julian. And who might this young miss be?” Betty greets them.

“Betty, might I introduce you to Princess Cirillia, you might know her mother, the renowned Yennefer.” Jaskier dips into a theatrical bow that sets Ciri giggling. 

“I’m honored to meet you, your highness.” Betty plays along. “What adventures have you two been having today?” Betty asks, listening with a rapt attention only grandmas seem to possess.

“Jaskier took me to the museum and we went on a flying school bus and down a slide and pretended to be hamsters.” Ciri happily explains and though he’s fairly certain Betty thinks most of it is her imagination she doesn’t seem any less interested.

“And so the adventure ends where it began.” Jaskier finishes. “Her mom should pick her up in a few hours.” 

“I don’t know if you had any plans or are up for one more adventure, but I was planning on making some strawberry shortcake and could sure use some help. If you know anyone for the job be sure to send them my way.” Betty says and Jaskier wonders if he looked as lost as he felt or if she was just using grandma intuition you always read about in stories.

“Pleeeassse.” Ciri pleads. Jaskier has barely started nodding before Ciri is turning back to Betty. “We’ll help!” Betty smiles widely.

“I’ve never baked with a princess before.” Betty says as she punches in the code for the door.

Ciri giggles, “I’m not a princess.” 

When Betty said she had an adventure for them she wasn’t wrong. With the help of a small wooden stool Ciri stands ready at the counter, carefully measuring out ingredients and mixing them to make the pound cake from scratch. 

Jaskier snaps a picture of Ciri so focused on mixing the contents of the bowl her tongue is peeking out and sends it to Yennefer, hoping she appreciates the pictures more than panics every time she gets a message from him. 

While the cake cooks and cools they play enough rounds of Go Fish Jaskier thinks he might be able to count cards soon before Betty introduces dominoes, a game neither Ciri or Jaskier have ever played but are more than happy to learn. 

“Like this?” Ciri was back on her stool, using a butter knife to cut up strawberries. They weren’t uniform other than having their green leaves cut off but it didn’t matter much beyond that anyway.

“Perfect, what do you say we dish these up and see how we did?” Betty sets out three plates, having just cut two small and starting on the third Ciri announces, “Julian didn’t have lunch, he needs a bigger piece.” 

Betty looks to Jaskier who fights not to shift under her gaze. “Had a big breakfast.” 

Betty nods but cuts a piece twice as large for him and Jaskier wishes he had a glass or water or three, anything but that cake. Betty helps Ciri with the Cool Whip so she doesn’t end up with more cream than cake before letting her loose on the chopped strawberries.

Jaskier bypasses the Cool Whip, adding a spoonful of strawberries to his before he joins Ciri and Betty at the table. 

“You forgot the Cool Whip.” Ciri observes and starts to slip from her seat to get it for him when Jaskier waves her back.

“Too sweet for me.” She narrows her eyes in disbelief but happily starts on her own plate and Jaskier forces himself to do the same. Jaskier doesn’t need to pinch the soft flesh of his stomach, something that’s getting harder and harder to do lately, to remind himself that he doesn’t need this. Each bite settling heavier and heavier in him until he’s certain he won’t be able to rise, weighed down as he is. 

Jaskier forces himself to compliment Ciri on her baking prowess, stalling until he has to fork off another bite, forcing it down when his throat constricts. His plate is finally empty and Jaskier feels the cake settled heavy inside him like a stone and so he readjusts his plan, this should keep him through until at least dinner tomorrow but if he were strong, if he were _better_ he could make it until dinner. 

Jaskier volunteers to do the dishes, but Betty waves his offer off and Jaskier insists it’s the least he can do; he needs to do it, show he’s useful. With the dishes done and drying in the rack Jaskier thanks Betty once more and guides Ciri to the door, not wanting to impose anymore than they have already.

“Ms. Betty, may I please take my mommy a piece?” Ciri asks and Jaskier starts to correct her, they’ve already taken up more than enough of Betty’s time and food but Betty’s too quick.

“What a wonderful idea Ciri, that’s very thoughtful of you and I’m sure she’ll love it. Let’s go get her a piece.” Betty heads back into her apartment and Jaskier’s apology dies on his tongue, he would thank her again later. 

“Make sure you put it in the fridge until she picks you up, don’t want all your hard work going warm.” Betty reminds Ciri as the trio makes their way into the hall once more. Ciri nods with such seriousness Jaskier wonders if she’ll insist Yennefer stay and eat it there lest it get warm on the way home. 

“Bye Ms. Betty!” Ciri calls even though they’ve just moved across the hall as Jaskier unlocks his door.

“It was nice meeting you Ciri, come play dominoes with me anytime.” Betty offers to an enthusiastic Ciri before smiling goodnight at Jaskier. Ciri bounds over to the fridge, intent on following Betty’s directions but she frowns at what she finds inside. It’s nothing like their fridge at home where her mommy keeps her juice in the door for Ciri to get when she’s thirsty or the containers they put their meals in, a different color for each day of the week. 

The door is empty, as clean and white as the day it was bought, the glass shelves serve only her as she carefully sets the cake within. She eyes the bottom drawers that are filled with green and orange and red, like hers at home, the fruits and veggies Yennefer insists on buying each week even though Ciri doesn’t like them.

“Your mom says she’s on her way so we just have a little bit of time left.” Jaskier’s words distract Ciri and the fridge door falls closed behind her with a gust of cold air. 

o~O~o

“How’d the show go?” Eskel asks as he rests his plate of lunch on the bar counter, perching on one of the stools.

“Got some good ideas, wrangled a few product trials to see how we like them but you wouldn’t believe how many questions I got about Jaskier.” Yennefer smiles fondly, she had been leery at first, not trusting the inquiries about his playing at their bar but it quickly became clear he was gaining notoriety online for his songs. 

“I still can’t tell if he doesn’t have any idea how popular he is or if he just doesn’t care.” Eskel shakes his head, tucking into his food. Eskel had stepped in a few times when the well-meaning fans seemed to be overwhelming him with questions, pressing too close in their excitement but Jaskier never snapped, never pushed back. 

“How’d he do with Ciri.” Geralt asks from down the bar, having already discussed Yennefer’s report from the conference. 

“The museum fever has set in again, she fell asleep and woke up talking about it. Apparently he took her to the roof for lunch which has a pond and a school bus.” Yennefer laughs softly, it was hard to decipher what was her daughter’s imagination and what was real sometimes but she wouldn’t dare take that from her.

“Guess you’ll be paying a visit of your own in a few weeks.” Eskel teases and he would pay good money to see Yennefer chasing around after Ciri at that place.

Yennefer ignores Eskel’s suggestion, knowing all too well he’s probably right. “She told me Jaskier’s fridge was sad, though I think that was just the sugar talking. She met Betty who taught her how to bake a cake from scratch, though it was a little late for that much sugar.” Geralt winces, having his own fond memories of a younger Ciri all sugared up late into the night. “She also informed me that she wants to learn to play guitar.” Yennefer sighs to Geralt and Eskel’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to disappoint those of you who were wanting Jaskier to go down and scare Ciri. I hope this was at least acceptable instead.
> 
> Have a great week!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have a problem.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a Week but your wonderful comments have helped me through. Thank you, I can't express how much you've all helped.
> 
> And as always a huge thank you to VeritasRose. This story wouldn't be what it is without her.

“Can I help you?” Yennefer asks the woman hesitating inside the door as she takes in the bar. 

“I imagine you can.” The words are served with a smile as the woman steps up to the bar. “I’m looking for Yennefer, possibly Geralt? I know Eskel is sometimes here but I believe there’s a couple others.” Betty pauses, as she thinks back, wanting to get the names right. “Triss and Lambert?” 

If it had happened anywhere else but the White Wolf Yennefer would have bolted from the person who knew too much about her life, she would call Geralt who would head to Ciri, who would keep safe. She would put into motion the plan she’d hoped never to use but always kept at the ready should Istredd get any ideas. 

“You must be Betty.” Betty’s smile widens into one that says she’s impressed and pleased at the connection that’s been made.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” Betty laughs.

“I could say the same about me.” Yennefer counters. “Geralt and Eskel are here but Lambert and Triss aren’t in yet.” Yennefer says, apology in her tone. She takes in Betty’s easy posture, the bag she has in her hand and tries to convince herself that nothing is wrong just because she’s asking for all of them. 

As though summoned Eskel steps from the back, a crate to restock in his hands. “Betty?” Eskel quickly sets the crate aside as he asks, “Everything ok?” 

“Eskel, it is always so lovely to see you.” Betty says waving away his concern. 

“I’ll go grab Geralt.” Yennefer excuses herself as Betty continues.

“You really should let me set up a date for you with my granddaughter, though someone as handsome as you probably doesn’t need any help.” Yennefer glances back before she heads down the hall, catching Eskel bushing, ducking his head away from Betty so the rough scar across his face is hidden. 

“You’ve been summoned.” Yennefer tells Geralt, leaning around the doorway into the office, anxious to return. Geralt sees he’s not going to get any more information and wonders what trick they’re trying to pull this time as he rises from his desk with a sigh and heads out into the bar. 

“You must be Geralt. I’ll have to get on him for not mentioning how handsome you are.” Betty notes at Geralt's appearance, Yennefer and Eskel trying to stifle their laughter at the myriad of expressions that war on Geralt’s face. 

“Geralt, this is Betty, Jaskier’s neighbor.” Yennefer saves Geralt who looks more lost for words than usual. “You know when he first mentioned you we mistook you for his girlfriend.” Yennefer tells Betty.

“Oh my gracious, no. That youngin’ is old enough to be one of my grandkids.” Betty chuckles. “But he is the kindest soul and he seems to be in good company. He always speaks so highly of you and I do so appreciate you all thinking of me at your dinners each week.” If Betty notices the confused looks her words bring she doesn’t let it show.

“I don’t cook like I used to since it’s just me and it’s just so thoughtful of you all to send home a plate for me I wanted to come by and thank you properly so I made you some cookies.” Betty pulls a larger version of a familiar tupperware container out of the bag and sets it on the counter. “I love baking and give some to Julian each week, though I’m sure he’s tired of them, he’s so kind he never turns them down.” 

“That was very sweet of you, I’m sure they’ll be delicious.” Yennefer says slowly, her mind turning over everything Betty has said. 

“It was lovely meeting you all, but I won’t keep you.” With stunned, murmured goodbyes Betty leaves. 

Geralt, Yennefer and Eskel exchange looks, something doesn’t feel right but none can quite put a name to it. 

“That explains how he made such good cookies but can’t cook.” Eskel notes, looking to the baked goods in question. Jaskier had admitted one night that he was a terrible cook which had started tales of everyone’s cooking failures and how Lambert was relieved from Sunday dinner duties.

“So each Sunday you send a plate home with him and he’s giving it to Betty who gives him cookies?” Yennefer sums up, finding it disconcerting but unable to place why she finds it so.

o~O~o

Jaskier attempts another round at the warm up set he uses before he goes on, his already cold hands fumbling the easy chords and he curses the colder weather only making them stiffer. With a frustrated sigh he sets his guitar aside, giving one last attempt before he’ll drag himself to the bathroom and try running them under hot water. Jaskier is shaking out his hands, trying to get them to loosen, when Geralt steps into the office.

“You...everything ok?” Geralt asks, taking in Jaskier’s flailing hands and the lack of an apparent threat. 

Jaskier blushes and quickly changes to rubbing his hands together instead, thinking how awkward it would be if he left the office now for hot water. “Yeah, just can’t seem to warm up.” Geralt’s gaze slides to the guitar resting next to him and Jaskier thinks how dumb he must appear, of course he can’t warm up if he’s not even holding the guitar.

“If you’re cold I have a shirt you can borrow.” Geralt offers. 

Jaskier is so surprised that Geralt understands he means more than just his playing that he doesn’t think when he says, “Yes.” If Geralt finds his response odd he doesn’t show it as he moves to the locker and Jaskier catches up to what he’s just said, quickly adding, “If it’s not a problem.” 

Geralt opens one of the lockers and from Jaskier’s spot on the couch it doesn’t look like there’s much inside but he pulls out a dark blue shirt that seems to have been hanging by its collar on the hook within. “Hope it helps, if not I’ll see if one of the others has something.” 

Jaskier murmurs his thanks as he takes the shirt from Geralt who continues on to his desk, trying not to stare. Jaskier rises and flips the shirt around so the tag is in the back and then down so he can slip his arms within, the fabric cool and soft. Jaskier feels his own t-shirt ride up as he’s pulling Geralt’s borrowed one over his head and hopes Geralt doesn’t notice, hands scrabbling to peel the staticky clothes apart. 

Geralt is doing his best to keep his eyes focused on the desk and the information he came back here for but he catches a flash of something from the corner of his eye that appears so wrong he’s turning for a full look before he catches himself. Jaskier’s shirt had risen up, his jeans slung low on his hips even though he’s a belt tightened in their loops but that’s not what drew Geralt’s attention, the sharp points of Jaskier’s hipbones jut above his jeans. 

Jaskier manages to peel the two shirts apart, yanking down his before smoothing Geralt’s shirt over it, hand automatically hitching up his jeans but they just settle back in place as soon as he lets them go. “Thanks, warmer already.” Jaskier flashes Geralt a smile that wavers when he sees the haunted look on the man’s face. 

“Good.” Geralt forces out, hating how Jaskier’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head, putting more focus into cuffing up the sleeves. Jaskier resumes his seat, running through his warmups once more but it’s only rote memory that keeps his fingers moving as his mind is stuck on the look on Geralt’s face, how disgusted he must have been watching Jaskier struggle to fit into his shirt, how he’ll have to replace it as he’s no doubt stretched it out.

Geralt knows he needs to say something, anything to chase away the hurt he saw on Jaskier’s face, can see still lingers in the stiff way he plays his guitar. “It looks good,” Geralt starts again and he thinks Jaskier won’t look, will pretend like he didn’t hear but blue eyes peek at him. “The shirt, it matches your eyes.” 

Jaskier looks properly at Geralt, a nervous smile growing as he blushes and pride wells within him; his plan was working and Geralt was proud of him.

Geralt watches Jaskier play from his usual lean against the wall, unable to turn his mind from the pale skin stretched over bones, his belt cinching the extra fabric of his pants giving the illusion of hips. None of it aligns with the man behind the guitar, his smiles seem to come easier tonight and more than once he turns them on Geralt. 

It’s hard to tell if there are more of his fans than usual on a Saturday night or if they’re just more enthusiastic but Geralt is quick to intervene when it looks like Jaskier intends to play right through the normal time he would break. Yennefer has Jaskier’s glass of water waiting on a coaster for him but tonight it’s just another sign that Geralt ignored all these months. 

“Did you shrink in the wash?” Lambert asks, surprising not only Jaskier but Geralt as well as he usually didn’t wander over during Jaskier’s break. Jaskier glances to Yennefer who looks confused. Geralt looking like he wants to rip someone’s head off as he growls, “It’s _my_ shirt.” At the same time Jaskier says, “No?”

Yennefer fumbles the plate with Jaskier’s plain chicken sandwich as what she’s been seeing all night is shed in a new light. It rattles on the bar, loud in the silence between the three of them, Jaskier hunching under its weight as he picks up his glass and downs the water in quick gulps. 

Yennefer automatically reaches for it to refill it but stalls after picking it up, Jaskier’s behavior had become so commonplace over the months she hardly noticed it anymore but tonight the gesture feels wrong. 

“It looks nice on him.” Geralt levels a _look_ at Lambert who frowns but doesn’t comment further, instead he turns and ambles back into the room.

Jaskier is side-eyeing Geralt like he can’t believe what he just heard and Geralt tries to ignore the twisting in his stomach, needing to talk to Yennefer but there's too many hours between now and the bar closing. 

“Eat your sandwich, Jaskier.” Geralt encourages, nudging the plate closer. Disgust clenches Jaskier’s jaw shut as he looks at the sandwich, the weight Geralt had helped lift moments before crashes back down as Jaskier looks to Geralt with pained confusion. Geralt had just _told_ him he was doing so good, so why is he making him eat? He doesn’t understand. 

“Do you want something else? It wouldn’t be a problem.” Yennefer offers, the strained words tinged with hope and Jaskier understands. _This_ was the test, to see if he would throw away the progress he’d made.

“No, this is fine. Thank you.” Jaskier pulls the plate closer but it still takes a beat too long for him to pick up the sandwich, as though he has to mentally prepare himself for what comes next. Jaskier forces each bite down, swallowing hard he finally concedes and returns the sandwich to the plate, pressing a hand to his protesting stomach. 

Geralt notices the gesture but keeps his features carefully blank, not daring to comment on the half sandwich still on the plate lest it be misunderstood, but Geralt still wants to say something, needs to know if Jaskier is...well enough. 

“Is it warm enough?” Geralt asks at a loss for anything else.

Jaskier beams at Geralt as though the man’s words were high praise, “It’s perfect.” 

Jaskier spends the night trying to ignore the warmth that trills through him each time he catches Geralt’s scent from his shirt while Geralt spends the night wondering how he could’ve been so blind. 

o~O~o

It’s the early hours of Sunday morning when Yennefer gets home from the White Wolf. Offering the sitter to stay and leave in a few hours when it’s a truer morning but the girl declines, knowing the offer is genuine having stayed before but she’s truly fine to drive and Yennefer sees her off. 

Yennefer strips and steps into the shower but tonight it does nothing to wind her down, her thoughts swirling as fast as the water down the drain and she steps from it with an idea in her head she’d hoped to talk herself out of to no avail. 

She peeks in on Ciri but she’s fast asleep, her wolf stuffed animal tossed from her arms in slumber but still loyal at her side as though the giver had imbued it with the promise made long ago. Reassured Ciri is safe, Yennefer creeps down the stairs, each step carrying her closer to a decision that can’t be undone. 

Yennefer selects the good bottle of wine from the fridge, the one she saves for when the hard days win and pours herself a glass before placing the bottle back in the fridge. Her hand lingers on the bottle, weighing the decision but she dare not take it with her, all too sure of what she’ll find and the answer to solve it won’t be at the bottom of that bottle. Not tonight. 

Taking her glass and phone Yennefer curls up in her favorite chair in the living room, oversized and perfect for reading, setting her wineglass on the table beside her as she studies her phone. She doesn’t have to do this, it won’t even necessarily prove anything, whatever she finds her mind will twist to fit what she already perceives.

She knows that’s a lie, she knows she doesn’t want to be proved right; conviction is a bitter friend and an even colder enemy. 

With a fortifying sip of wine Yennefer swipes open her phone and navigates to her browser, a quick search taking her to social media sites with endless pages of Jaskier’s performances at the White Wolf. It’s easy to find a dedicated fan page, the infinite scroll handily taking her back through the months until she’s at the beginning.

_Scroll_.

Jaskier looked unsure, the same worn jeans and shirts that he wore for the first month day in and day out.

_Scroll_.

Four weeks later, a month of Sunday dinners in him, right when they’d gone clothes shopping. Cherubic cheeks and easy smile, shirt hugging the flat plane of his stomach. 

_Scroll_.

Slowly the shirt’s get looser, the vest that was snug looks borrowed between one picture and the next, a scant couple weeks between them. 

_Scroll_.

The week Jaskier passed out coming off stage, Yennefer knows it’s the night because of the outfit, the memory of him on the floor had haunted her for days after. His cheek bones are sharp, his hair thinner though she thinks it may just be the angle of the photo.

_Scroll_.

Jaskier from last week. The blue shirt she’d picked for him because it made his eyes impossibly bluer. Her eyes well with tears as her thumb hovers over the screen, the guitar has pulled the shirt taut, curving along the cage of his ribs before it dips into the hollow of his stomach. 

_Scroll_.

Jaskier from tonight, Geralt’s shirt threatening to swallow his delicate frame. 

Yennefer takes a long swallow of wine but it does nothing to drown what she’s seen. Jaskier stares up at her from tonight, the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks, his smile the easiest it’s been in weeks. She jabs the home button, unable to stand the sight any longer. 

With a steadying breath she makes the call, the phone not completing a ring before it’s picked up and she knows she’s not the only one concerned. “We have a problem.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, in the distance...the recovery tag! 
> 
> You didn't think we'd ever make it there did you? Thought it was going to be 40 chapters of me slowly starving Jaskier to death. I'm not *that* mean.   
> Eyes other tags...how many words until we hit those...?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has no idea what game Jaskier thinks they’re playing, but Geralt is certain they’ve already lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, you got a bit of awesome reader on you, let me just dust you off. Thanks for coming back! I cannot tell you how much your comments have brightened my week. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to VeritasRose I'm running out of ways to say it but she's what keeps this story smooth.

“Julian!” Ciri announces his arrival though he wouldn’t have been missed, each time the door opened the past hour five heads whipped toward it, cold fear in the pits of their stomachs. 

Ciri bounds over to Jaskier who is cradling two casserole dishes in his arms, crashing into him like she does Geralt, her arms thrown about him but the motion nearly knocks Jaskier over. Lambert’s closest, an arm stretching out to steady him.

“Hello, Ciri.” Jaskier smiles down at her, unfazed that a six year old not only nearly pushed him over but that her arms looped easily around him. 

“I’s made you something.” Ciri tells him before scampering back to the table she’d been playing at, Yennefer having brought them there early for the family meeting that had been arranged in the early hours of the morning. 

They do their best not to stare, at the undershirt that peeks out from the collar of his sweatshirt, the sharp mountains of his collarbone or the way he gropes, trying to find his slipping pants through handfuls of excess fabric that bunches when he tries to pull them up, the few steps to the bar counter too far for his hips. 

“Everything ok?” Jaskier asks, having noticed he’s the only one that’s moved, everyone else seeming frozen in place since his arrival.

“Just,” Yennefer starts but the words catch, the difference unmistakable and Yennefer doesn’t know how she missed it for so long. “Happy to see you.” She finishes, the words thick as she recognizes the feeling she couldn’t put a name to is dread. 

Ciri is back at his side, scrabbling to get up on the barstool and Jaskier instinctively moves to help her, lifting her slight weight proves difficult but he hides it behind a smile as he leans against the counter beside her. “It’s your favorite color!” Ciri offers Jaskier a friendship bracelet she’s woven and Jaskier recognizes the simple pattern from the ones the others have sported at one time or another.

“It sure is! Would you do me the honor?” Jaskier offers up his wrist, tugging the sleeve back so Ciri can tie it on. He smiles fondly as she bends over the task, her tongue peeking out. He’s aware of Triss pulling out her phone, certain a photo is being snapped but he doesn’t turn to look at her, he wants to remember this moment just as it is.

“I made it too big.” Ciri’s mouth twists to the side, worried her gift won’t be wanted. Yennefer turns away, Geralt and Eskel close enough to see her eyes have gone glassy, _No baby, we made him too small._ Ciri had measured it the same she did the ones for Geralt, Eskel and Lambert, by the end she could wrap theirs three times around her thin wrist, it seemed nearly the same was true for Jaskier.

“These just means our friendship has room to grow.” Jaskier reasons, tugging on the trailing braids of yellow turning to green at the ends. Ciri grins at the words. “You’ll have to teach me to make these sometime. I have a friend named Macee and her favorite colors are purple and black.” 

“I can show you now.” Ciri’s enthusiasm puts a smile on Jaskier’s face.

“I have to help get dinner on the table but maybe after if there’s time.” Jaskier tells her.

“We’ve got it.” Geralt offers when it’s clear Yennefer is still struggling to gather herself. 

“Well then.” Jaskier holds out his hand for Ciri who clasps it before hopping off the stool and leading the way over to her table and her backpack filled with things for her to do. 

Geralt steps close to Yennefer, a comforting hand on her shoulder as he murmurs, “It’ll be ok.” And hopes with everything that he is that he’s not wrong.

o~O~o

If Jaskier notices the hesitance in filling his plate, the gesture once second nature now stilted, he doesn’t let it show. No one is sure, they had discussed what to do, how to help, how to _not_ make things worse but did that mean filling his plate as they had done at dinner’s past? Would it be worse to give him less, knowing he couldn’t finish what was put before him regardless of the portion. 

Eskel meets Yennefer’s eyes over Jaskier’s plate as she holds it out for him, having had to set the precedent herself, with a bed of rice like it’s any other week, like they haven’t been watching their newest family withering away before their eyes and did nothing to slow it. 

Triss intercepts the plate, adding a spoonful of stir fry vegetables, swallowing hard as she hands it off to Geralt, a plate never having felt heavier than the one he holds now, a scoop of orange chicken over the rice and he passes it to Jaskier.

Blue eyes scan the plate, the slightest drawing in of his brows the only hint that they’ve erred before he nods, seeming to set something in his mind and flashes Geralt a grin that turns his stomach, certain Jaskier has twisted it as he did last night. Geralt has no idea what game Jaskier thinks they’re playing, but Geralt is certain they’ve already lost. 

The once easy conversation starts and stops in fits, no one quite sure what to say and the normally delicious dinner tasteless. 

“So,” Yennefer starts, drawing the attention of the table, a restless shifting from all but Ciri and Jaskier. “Realized we never threw you a housewarming party.” Yennefer changes tact, unable to bring herself to call him out to broach a topic she has no idea how to start. 

Jaskier just laughs, giving her an amused but confused look. “I live in an apartment.” 

“It’s a term.” Yennefer waves away his technicality. “We should have one, just do dinner at your place next week.” A week, she says it so easy, like she’s certain there’s time to spend and spare. 

“If you want. Though it’s really not that exciting.” Jaskier shrugs but doesn’t seem outright opposed to the idea. Ciri seems the most excited by the idea, asking if Jaskier will play his guitar and he promises her a definite maybe, but all she hears is the definite. 

Jaskier picks at his food, the only way Geralt knows he actually ate any is the hand he presses surreptitiously to his stomach below the table, the slight grimace that crosses his face every so often. _Guess the potatoes were a little much._ The words send a cold shiver through Geralt, he’d seen and lied to himself so _he_ wasn’t uncomfortable, so he didn’t show Jaskier how inept he was at human contact. 

Geralt makes Jaskier his usual box of leftovers, they’d all decided if he didn’t it would send the wrong message, that they encouraged him not eating at all, though they all knew it didn’t matter as it would be given to Betty. 

“Please tell me you have a coat and you just forgot it.” Yennefer says, rounding the bar and eyeing Jaskier. The weather was chilly when they arrived and she knew it would only be colder all these hours later.

"I have a coat. I just forgot it." Jaskier repeats back and Yennefer gives him an exasperated look. 

“We’re going shopping before it snows and getting you a coat. And shoes.” Yennefer adds on when she notices the state of his Converse, the soles pulling away in places. Jaskier grins sheepishly and ducks his head.

It wasn’t that this was a new concept to him, it occurred to him every morning he left and the crisp autumn air slipped its cold fingers under his shirt. He didn’t have the money to spare on things he didn’t need, between rent and his car and whatever he made for Sunday dinners there wasn’t much left. Besides, Ciri’s birthday was also coming up and he wanted to get her something and then there was Christmas and he wanted to give something to all of them and Betty and Macee.

“Jask?” Geralt’s soft call of his name pulls him back from the spiral of worry that was threatening to trap him. 

“Yeah, shopping.” Jaskier hurriedly assures. Yennefer studies him, trying to gauge if her comment upset him, but he just seemed distracted. With final goodnights Jaskier leaves, the others slowly gather together, Ciri happily working on another friendship bracelet at a nearby table.

“We have a week and we can’t fuck this up.” Yennefer declares but that’s the problem, they have a week and no idea how _not_ to make things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorty before a chapter that's twice the length.  
> I mean, did you really expect I'd just give you the intervention that quickly?  
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway! Have a great week and we shall gather again Saturday!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt starts, no idea what he’s going to say, he just knows he needs to say something, anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for! Maybe. I really don't know, but it sounded good so I went with it. 
> 
> As always, a major thank you to VeritasRose for betrareading this and making sure I bruise *all* the feels.

At the end of a week Yennefer and Geralt feel more informed and less prepared to handle today’s dinner. A separate group chat had formed between Geralt, Yennefer, Triss, Eskel and Lambert, messages and websites, tips and ideas for how to approach were exchanged though it was hard to find answers when you weren’t sure what questions to ask.

Eskel had raised the question they’d all been thinking, do they bring Ciri? Yennefer had struggled with this question herself, knowing she should leave Ciri home, to protect her from more experiences she shouldn’t have to face so young. But Ciri had thrived on the idea of the housewarming all week, had drawn picture after picture for Jaskier, deciding none of them were good enough and told Yennefer she was going to use her piggy bank money to buy Jaskier a gift. 

Yennefer had helped Ciri wrap it and it now waits on the table, a physical manifestation of their care for him and Yennefer knew it would mean so much more to Jaskier if it came _from_ Ciri. The group hadn’t argued, they knew Yennefer had risked her life to protect Ciri and understood that she had a good reason for bringing her along. 

Besides, it would be fine, they were just going to talk.

o~O~o

Jaskier gives his apartment one final scan having spent the morning making sure everything was dusted and freshly wiped down. His composition notebooks are all lined up neatly with the edge of the shelf and the chairs Betty lent him for the afternoon are pushed against the wall. He’d invited her to join, reassuring her she’d be welcome but she’d declined the offer with a container of cookies, saying she’d be there in spirit. 

Yennefer had insisted he didn’t need to make anything for this week’s dinner, since it was a celebration they would bring everything he just needed to show up to which he pointed out would be difficult not to considering it was at his apartment. 

Jaskier’s stomach clenches, not understanding on Sundays he skips breakfast and lunch since he knows it will end with dinner. Crossing to the sink he plucks his glass from the counter and fills it, downing the water in long swallows, silencing his protesting stomach, he refills the glass but only gets half down before cramps wrack his frame, abandoning his water he grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white as his eyes slip closed and he breathes deep through his nose. 

Pressing a hand to his stomach he wills the pain to pass, the anxiety of knowing they’ll be there any moment only making it worse. With measured breaths the spasm finally eases and he eyes the remaining water but decides against it, already feeling uncomfortably full. 

Jaskier glances at the time on his phone again, anxiety mounting as he looks around his apartment once more, but everything is ready and in its place. A knock at his door makes his stomach flip but with a steadying breath he crosses and spies Geralt through the peephole.

“Hello!” Jaskier’s nerves tighten his grin as he opens the door, Geralt forcing a smile of his own.

“Hello, Jaskier.” Heat pools low at the way Geralt says his name and Jaskier steps back, inviting Geralt into the apartment. Geralt makes his way to the table, setting his casserole dish next to a familiar container of cookies, briefly wondering if Betty ever told him she’d stopped by the White Wolf. 

Jaskier lingers at the head of the table, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans and Geralt tries not to stare at the excess fabric folded over and cinched by his belt. “Can I take your coat?” Jaskier offers, drawing on his manners.

Geralt shrugs out of his Witcher jacket, even though he didn’t ride Roach it’s become such habit to don that jacket when leaving.

Handing it to Jaskier he bites back the smile when his hand dips under the unexpected weight, leathers were meant to protect and though they looked light, when made properly, had a heft to them. 

Jaskier smooths the jacket over the back of the chair, realizing only after he’d offered that he didn’t have anywhere to store it, grateful for the chance it gives him to will his cheeks to stop burning. The dim of the bar often hid the multitude of sins that Geralt elicited in his fitted shirts and heavy boots, while Jaskier’s well lit kitchen only served to to put them on display. 

“Your hair looks nice.” Jaskier finds himself blurting, eyes widening at the admission he’d meant to keep to himself. Geralt had left his hair loose, normally keeping the top layer tied back in a ponytail, a style Jaskier thought looked wonderful on the man though he seldom wore it. 

“Thank you.” It’s Geralt’s turn to blush and the embarrassment Jaskier felt at his comment abates. Maybe Geralt liked him, he had done so well to stick to his plan and Geralt had noticed when he’d lent him a shirt and said how good he looked. Hope wells in Jaskier, a shy smile tugging at his lips. 

Another knock sounds at the door and Jaskier is grateful to be saved from himself, turning he answers the door before he can ruin the moment. Yennefer and Ciri wait on the other side, Triss and Eskel lingering in the door to the parking lot as Eskel calls something back to Lambert about being late. 

“You’re still wearing your bracelet!” Ciri happily notes, eyeing the colored strands still secured around Jaskier’s wrist. 

“We’re still friends aren’t we?” He teases to which she nods enthusiastically. He’s fairly certain she would hug him if her arms weren’t carrying a package that’s nearly half her size. Yennefer smiles fondly at her daughter before turning back to Jaskier.

“It’s good to see you.” The words feel heavy and Jaskier tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at her, he’d seen them just last night at the White Wolf, technically hours ago as the bar was open into Sunday. 

“Happy house warming!” Ciri enunciates each word, having practiced to get them just right, as she holds up the present to Jaskier. 

His eyes widen, having not expected a gift, he falters with what to do next; it's been so long since anyone has given him anything. “Oh, thank you?” Jaskier tries, making no move to take the present.

Ciri frowns up at him, glancing to Yennefer who is trying to hide how stricken she looks, Geralt’s mouth an equally tight line next to her. “You has to take it silly. To opens it.” Ciri says when her mom doesn't respond. 

Triss knocks as she opens the door, the tail end of Eskel chastising her for bad manners can be heard but are lost in Triss’ greeting. “Hello!” She waves at Jaskier as she skirts Ciri still holding the present expectantly while Eskel waits, holding the door for Lambert.

“Right.” Jaskier nods, hoping he doesn’t sound as uneasy as he feels. The paper tears easily, revealing a ridiculously soft blanket, the silky fabric unfolding itself. The blanket is black, a rainbow treble clef dominating the left side with a looping rainbow bar and notes filling the rest of the blanket. 

Jaskier’s eyes burn with tears, it’s perfect and _his_. 

“Do you like it?” Ciri asks.

“I _love_ it. Thank you, Ciri.” Jaskier kneels and hugs her, the girl giggling at the sudden affection but easily wraps her arms around him. Triss snaps a picture, having noticed some of the other ones she’d sent Jaskier had been printed and stuck to his fridge. 

Jaskier misses Yennefer’s glance at Geralt, a cold twisting inside them as they note the spare space, devoid of things, of Jaskier’s personality. 

“I think I’ll keep this on the couch, that way I see it when I’m playing.” Jaskier says rising. “Want to help me?” Ciri eagerly nods and they move to the couch, Ciri scrambling up to spread her side over the back cushions while Jaskier fans his out. 

“What the hell?” Lambert’s confused words carry through the small apartment, drawing everyone’s attention, Yennefer’s scolding tapering off as she takes in Jaskier’s empty fridge, a bag of lettuce and a small carton of carrots stark against the bright white interior. 

_His fridge is sad._

Lambert sets his pack of beer on the shelf and swings the door closed, rounding on Jaskier who ambles towards them from the living room.

“I just haven’t gone to the grocery store yet this week but I have food.” Jaskier protests, gesturing to one of the cabinets and the fridge. 

Triss, never one to be shy, opens the cabinet he indicated as Lambert snaps. “That’s not food, that’s what _food_ eats _._ ” It’s only through years of knowing each other do Geralt and Eskel see the fear on Lambert’s face as he jabs a thumb over his shoulder to the fridge. 

Triss’ sharp inhale draws their attention, the cabinet contains a lone bag of apples and a small jar of peanut butter. 

“I told mommy your fridge was sad and we broughts you food.” Ciri bounds over, grinning up at Jaskier who’s starting to tremble where he stands. 

This was not how it was supposed to go, though they really didn’t have a plan other than talking to him, they were doing what all the sites suggested not to, making him feel attacked.

“Do you,” Yennefer starts but the words are barely more than a whisper and she has to start again, forcing herself louder. “Do you need money?” She knew, she _knew_ , that money wasn’t the issue but until she heard him deny it, she could pretend it was as simple as buying him groceries. That things had just gotten tight and he did what she’d done when Ciri was young and allowed herself only what was absolutely necessary to make sure Ciri never went hungry; Geralt had been apoplectic when he’d found out. 

“No. _No._ I,” Jaskier falters, looking pained as he almost pleads with them to understand, “I pay, I’m never late. I can pay more, I can get more hours at the grocery store.” 

“The _grocery store_?” Geralt growls, fearing what Jaskier is going to say before he starts.

“Just Around the Corner Market. It’s only part time but they’ve offered me more hours. I can take them.” Jaskier is quick to offer. “I should’ve taken them.” He murmurs, misunderstanding Geralt’s stony look. 

“When the _fuck_ did you start at Jac’s Market?” Triss blurts.

“That’s a five dollar word.” Ciri tells Triss seriously, thinking of the Swear Jar. 

“A few months ago, right after I started playing at White Wolf.” Jaskier shrugs like it’s not important but it feels important to Yennefer and Geralt as they realize he’s been bouncing from job to job, some days probably working both before he shows up at the White Wolf, looking pre-worn but playing late into the night. That’s probably why he’d passed out that night...did he ever have a day off? 

“It’s not about _paying_. I told you, you don’t have to pay for the car, Geralt offered to cover it.” Lambert bites the words out, still trying to wrap his mind around Jaskier getting an entirely other _other_ job just to pay a couple bills. 

“I’m not useless.” The protest is whisper thin, Yennefer reaches for Jaskier, intending to reassure but he leans away from her touch, looking hurt as he turns to Geralt. Geralt _had_ offered to pay Lambert for the car and was only slightly surprised to learn Jaskier had already approached him and insisted on a repayment plan, it had briefly occurred to him that it was quite a bit of money between the apartment and car. But Jaskier had given him no reason to think otherwise and it certainly never occurred to him that he might do something dangerous like take on a third job.

“I don’t think you’re useless Jaskier.” Geralt says but Jaskier looks unconvinced and Geralt isn’t sure if they’ve gotten this right anymore. They thought this was Marx’s doing, that he’d twisted Jaskier up so badly he doesn’t think he deserves food, but now Geralt’s wondering if Jaskier’s so worried about keeping a roof over his head he’s given up everything else. 

“Truly Jaskier, this is all earned by your hand.” Jaskier brightens at the praise and it sickens Geralt, he’s said nothing more than fact and yet Jaskier looks nearly ecstatic. 

“But you need to eat.” Jaskier wraps his arms around his stomach, as though he needs to hold himself together, turning betrayed eyes on Geralt. 

No, he didn’t need to eat, he wasn’t supposed to _want_ to eat and he was trying so hard but sometimes he still slipped up and he knew he needed to get better. Blank blue eyes focus on the wall past their shoulders as he whispers, “Please go.” 

Ciri moves to Yennefer, wrapping her arms around her mother’s legs, she can tell something is wrong, the adults have gone from serious voices to silence. 

No one moves as all eyes shift to Geralt, he’s the closest to Jaskier but he looks just as distraught and lost as the rest of them feel. “Jaskier,” Geralt starts, no idea what he’s going to say, he just knows he needs to say something, _anything_ , but so far all their words have only served to make things worse. 

“ _Please_.” Jaskier says again as though he’s pleading for mercy, tears well in his eyes as he clenches his jaw, willing them away. He doesn’t understand what more they want, he thought he was doing good, that they were proud, but they’re disappointed in him and deep down he knows he can do better. He _will_ do better, he just needs them to go, he can’t stand the weight of their disappointed gazes on him any longer. 

Yennefer is the first to move, easing out of Ciri’s grip as she steps toward Jaskier, wanting to comfort him but he flinches away from her touch, unable to stand the shame when she wouldn’t be able to fit her arms around him. Jaskier bites back the urge to beg again, knowing it will only upset them further but he needs them to leave.

“Jask, we’re worried about you. Please don’t make us go.” Geralt implores.

It’s the hesitance that gives him away, the swallow that carries the words he wants to say, leaving only what they want to hear. “Ok.” 

Geralt falls back a step as though he’s been physically struck and it feels a little like he has as he understands, there’s no way they can stay now. Jaskier would tell them whatever he thought they wanted to hear, but worse than that the longer they stay, the longer they impose themselves here, the more they steal his security. 

Dread washes over Geralt as he realizes he doesn’t know how to undo what he’s done, he doesn’t know how to give back Jaskier his choice, how to show him he’s nothing like Marx. 

“Thank you for having us over, Jaskier.” Geralt says, his words spurring the others into motion around him but he doesn’t dare take his eyes from Jaskier. Triss and Lambert take care not to crowd Jaskier as they pass, Eskel following them with a regretful look that Geralt knows he’ll answer to later. 

Jaskier drags his eyes to Geralt, nodding, this was good, they were giving him a chance to be better, to make a new plan; he wouldn’t fail them this time. 

Yennefer doesn’t dare say anything more, instead she encourages Ciri, who can't tear her gaze from Jaskier, to the door. Yennefer’s mind is already racing ahead, figuring out how she’ll explain their abrupt departure, silently cursing herself for bringing Ciri. It wasn’t that the others were right, it was that they knew how messy tonight was going to be and she hadn’t wanted to accept it, she had brought Ciri along like a talisman, as though her presence would magically make things better. 

She should have known, her parenting choices of Ciri was rarely questioned but it had been in regards to tonight and she’d been too stubborn to heed their concerns and now she could only hope it wouldn’t be yet another trial Ciri carried with her for the rest of her days. 

Ciri digs her feet in at the door, refusing to be moved until she gets an answer. “Julian isn’t feeling well.” Yennefer whispers to Ciri, Geralt and Jaskier still silently staring at one another. 

Ciri slips from Yennefer’s grip and runs to Jaskier, hugging him with a ferociousness only children seem capable of, her chin resting on his thigh as she peers up at him, earning his gaze. Jaskier’s eyes soften when they look at Ciri, though they’re still glassy with tears. 

“Feel better, ok.” It’s not a suggestion as much as a demand and Jaskier nods, offering a tired smile. “Music blanket will make you better.” And with that Ciri returns to Yennefer, slipping her hand into her mom’s. 

Jaskier’s gaze doesn’t fully make it back up to meet Geralt’s, shame tethering it to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. Geralt slips his jacket from the back of the chair, thinking how he arrived at this door not even an hour before with hope and trepidation for the evening ahead.

“We’re here if you need anything.” Geralt offers, needing Jaskier to know that he still has them if only he wants them. 

The door closes behind Geralt but somehow Jaskier turns his back on the kitchen and the temptations that lurk there but will only serve to make him sick should he give into his weakness. The blanket from Ciri catches his eye, its newness standing out in his perpetually unchanging apartment. _Music blanket will make you better_. 

Walking to the couch takes more effort than Jaskier thinks he has left in him but the hope he has in that blanket keeps him moving until he’s sinking numbly onto the couch, hands fumbling as they drag the blanket about his shoulders, relishing the warmth it brings as he wraps it about himself. 

His head pounds and Jaskier can’t tell if his blinks are becoming longer or if the greedy black is eating the edges again but he’s not so concerned with any of it as Ciri was right, music blanket does make him better as he slips sideways onto the couch and into the welcoming dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think I was going to let the intervention go well? We still have half the story to go. And ok, interventions never go well the first time around...or is that just me?
> 
> Hope it wasn't too disappointing. Have a great weekend and I'll be back with a new chapter Wednesday!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentally shaking himself Jaskier tears his gaze from the blanket, he should look at today as what it is, a chance to prove he’s better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was an English major. You may be wondering why I'm telling you this. It's because I realized at 22 chapters in we're finally over halfway, which means that the total chapter count shouldn't have been 41, but 42. Which also happens to be the answer to life, the universe and everything else.

Jaskier eyes the blanket Ciri gave him from his place in the kitchen, nibbling at an apple carefully cut into pieces with a dollop of peanut butter. He wants nothing more than to curl back up in it and sleep but he’d gotten off easy yesterday, having only worked at the grocery store he didn’t even get the chance to walk to work and yet here he was complaining. 

Mentally shaking himself Jaskier tears his gaze from the blanket, he should look at today as what it is, a chance to prove he’s better. He knows it will take a while and he’ll miss playing at the White Wolf, but the next time he goes he’ll make sure he’s what they want, he won’t disappoint them again. 

He’d washed their containers and now they wait, neatly stacked at the end of the table for the next time he sees them, a reminder that he hadn't given in, he’s sure if they knew they would be proud 

Jaskier’s mouth waters sickeningly at the apple, the sweetness biting and cramping his stomach but he’ll go from the museum to Jac’s, his head already pounding again this morning but this should help. Chasing each forced bite down with a sip of water Jaskier tries to ignore the heaviness settling in his stomach.

A shiver wracks Jaskier’s slight frame and he wishes he could take his blanket with him, he’s so tired of being cold and it’s only going to be worse if he has to stock dairy again. Friday is payday and maybe he can put a little less aside for Christmas and buy a jacket, Yennefer would be happy, he wouldn’t burden her with another shopping trip. 

With a last longing look at his blanket Jaskier washes his plate and grabs the company issued polo for Jac’s, grateful they’ll let him keep his long sleeve shirt on underneath and heads out for the day. 

o~O~o

Jaskier forces himself to not check the time again, knowing the clock will inform him a scant three minutes have passed and he’s still got three hours left before he can return home and curl up in his blanket and try to remember what warm feels like. 

The weather cooling didn’t slow the number of field trips taken to the museum, it just meant fewer things outside were open and Jaskier found himself crawling through the tunnels more than he did in warmer months. Macee had frowned at him when he’d all but dropped into a chair in the break-room, shoulders hunched as he tried to shake the chill from being stories in the air in a wire tunnel showing a school bus full of seven and eight year olds the wire slinky isn’t as scary as it looks and the plane at the other end is worth the daunting crawl.

She had pressed a cup of hot chocolate into his hands, lingering until he took a scalding sip before leaving. Jaskier was grateful their breaks were misaligned, he’d read somewhere once that drinking a cup of hot chocolate was essentially replacing a meal. 

Now Jaskier is wishing he had that cup back if only to warm his hands as he’d done then, clutching the cup for the duration of his break, the warmth seeping into his fingers until they burned but he relished the heat too much to set the cup down. 

Jaskier is in dairy and that means hauling heavy plastic crates of gallons and half gallons around the cramped space, numb fingers forcing the jugs onto the slanted shelves as he fights to keep his teeth from chattering. Jaskier is so grateful when he gets pulled and told to work on straightening and facing aisles for the last two hours of his shift he skips break, not wanting to risk his chance at warmth.. 

Jaskier pushes to his feet, having worked his way from the top shelf down in each four foot span, swaying where he stands as his whole body flushes and he wishes he were back in the dairy cooler. He knows he needs to keep moving and if anyone asks he’ll say he’s just giving the shelves a once over to make sure he didn’t miss turning any can labels forward. In truth, he’s thinking of his water bottle waiting for him in the break-room fridge and how he’ll step back there for just a moment as soon as the hungry black that’s consumed his vision recedes but he doesn’t get the chance as the floor welcomes him with its cool tiles.

o~O~o

“Julian.” Jaskier’s face scrunches, his head pounding but that's nothing new, he’s cold but that’s also usual. The hard floor and unfamiliar voice that somehow knows his name, the name bestowed on him, isn’t and he struggles to sit up.

“Whoa, take it slow. Are you with us?” Jaskier drags his eyes open, clenching them shut when the bright fluorescent lights overhead ratchet up his headache, a pained groan escaping. 

Talk of calling an ambulance gets Jaskier moving as he protests he’s fine, cracking his eyes open he keeps his head down, trying to piece together where he is and what happened. His manager is crouched next to him along with a few customers and heat floods his cheeks, _Just Around the Corner_ , he’s fairly certain their ads have never included finding an unconscious employee but he could be wrong.

“Sorry, I’m fine.” Jaskier mumbles, his skin feeling tacky from dried sweat.

“Hun, you are not fine. If you weren’t feeling well you didn’t need to come in.” Jaskier’s head twitches towards Sandy’s voice, the endearment taking the bite out of the words. 

“I wasn’t...I was ok when I came in.” Jaskier tries but his thoughts are swimming and he wonders how long he was out. A crazed giggle threatening when he’s sure the clock will still only show three minutes have passed. 

“We should really get you checked out.” Sandy presses, not liking how pale he looks, his movements sluggish, but he wasn’t slurring or bleeding.

“No, please. I’m fine, really.” Jaskier struggles to his feet, using the shelf to pull himself up he presses a hand to his head, forcing himself to remain upright when the new wave of pain threatens to bring him to his knees. 

“I won’t call an ambulance if you can get someone to take you home?” Sandy reasons. Jaskier nods, mind sticking on the prospect of going home, of laying down and not moving until he absolutely has to and that means not until work tomorrow. 

With gentle guiding hands Sandy maneuvers Jaskier back to the break room, offering once again to get him something to eat or drink but he assures her he’s good. “I’m serious, you call someone to pick you up, I’m going to watch you get in their car so don’t even think about slipping out of here and trying to drive home.” 

Jaskier digs out his phone, thumb hovering over the list of contacts, he knows they’re going to be disappointed, he’d just promised he’d be better and it’s only been a few days but he can’t risk losing this job. With a steadying breath Jaskier taps the call button and raises the phone to his ear as the ringing stops, “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but...can you come pick me up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...just taking a survey but how many of you lovely readers are gathering up your pitchforks and storming my fic castle after this chapter?


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier knows he should just make up his mind, Valdo hated how indecisive he had gotten but he’s been chasing the same thoughts for days and he wishes someone would just tell him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and/or commenting. I'm just gonna go ahead and dust some of the awesome off of you, that's like the glitter of the fic world. 
> 
> Now, let's find out who Jaskier called. Please place your final bets.

Geralt was trying to consolidate the receipts, he really was, but he was still haunted by the look on Jaskier’s face, he’d looked so hurt and betrayed by his words. Geralt had typed out endless versions asking if he was ok, just wishing him a good day but each one twisted before his eyes, turning into commands or chastisements.

Eskel steps into the office, barely earning a glance from Geralt until he closes the door, something that only occurs when it’s serious. Eskel doesn’t move to the couch to perch on the arm like he usually does, instead he turns where he stands and sags against the door, his eyes settling on Geralt who wants to growl at him to get on with it but it looks like he’s not even sure how to say the words or he would have. 

Yennefer would have called him if it was Ciri, unless she couldn’t–

“Betty called.” Eskel starts and annoyance replaces the fear that had been threatening to consume Geralt. 

“You finally agree to date her granddaughter?” If Lambert had said those words it would sound like a taunt but Geralt understands Eskel’s hesitation with lovers and he very may well be moments away from a panic attack at the prospect.

“Jaskier blacked out at work. He had to be driven home.” The world falls silent to Geralt, the din of the bar that can never fully be silenced is suddenly absent and in its place is Jaskier’s broken plea, “ _Please_.”

o~O~o

Friday arrives and Jaskier is no closer to deciding if he should go to the White Wolf or not. He knows he’s not better yet and that he shouldn’t go, not yet, even just to show them he’s still trying. The anxiety instills a restlessness that even playing his guitar can’t quite settle and he knows he should be moving. 

After he’d been sent home on Wednesday he spent the rest of the evening curled on his bed, having dragged his blanket from the couch, resuming his position after his shift at the museum the next day, Sandy having insisted he take a couple days.

If he leaves now he can walk to work and the walk home would still leave him with enough time to grab his guitar and go to the White Wolf. _If_ he decides to go. Jaskier knows he should just make up his mind, Valdo hated how indecisive he had gotten but he’s been chasing the same thoughts for days and he wishes someone would just tell him. 

Jaskier isn’t far into his walk before he remembers what he was supposed to do today, or had considered doing at least, as the crisp autumn wind cuts through the thin long sleeve t-shirt he’s wearing. Jaskier sighs to himself, if only he’d decided he would at least have the satisfaction of having made a decision to keep him warm. 

The museum is busy, one of the final days before the weather gets too cold and the outside equipment is closed for the year, not that there aren’t dozens of attractions covering every inch of the sprawling museum. Jaskier relishes the distraction it gives him, slipping from one group to the next, only recalling he has yet to make a choice when they ask him to stay a couple extra hours. Macee had called out and they needed someone to cover a couple hours of glow in the dark laser tag.

“I’m sorry I–” Jaskier starts, but quickly realizes this is what he’s wanted all along and maybe this was better, if they _did_ want him to keep playing at the White Wolf they wouldn’t be upset if he was working at his other job. “I would be happy to.” Jaskier corrects.

Which is how he finds himself walking home in the dark, arms wrapped tight around himself, wishing Macee were working tonight. He knows the only reason he’s walking home now is because she called out, but he’s certain, in this moment when there’s absolutely no hope of asking, that he would have asked her to drive him home.

The night looks different around him, familiar streets seeming to stretch farther away from where he’d crossed them this afternoon. He lingers at each corner, double checking landmarks and street names, grateful he’d started noting them after his fiasco of not knowing his address. 

The closer he gets to the apartment the heavier his legs feel, his steps slowing and he knows it’s only going to take him longer but the restlessness that had thrummed through him earlier has left a hollow ache in its place and Jaskier is trying not to think about how much further he has to go when an all too familiar voice calls his name, his shoulders hunching as he wishes, not for the first time today, that he were more decisive.

o~O~o

Geralt has spent the past two days typing out text after text to Jaskier, agonizing worse now than before over what to say, how to make it sound like they trust him and are just worried. That _he’s_ worried. Yennefer had wanted to drive over to his apartment before Eskel finished telling her, Geralt unable to say the words as he feared if he opened his mouth a litany of broken, _‘Please’_ , would come out. 

Eskel, standing in front of the door this time, had slowed Yennefer enough for Geralt to stop her. It would do no good to corner him again, to make it feel like Betty was watching him for them, not when she may be the only connection they have left to him and it was a tenuous one at best. 

There’s a tension in the bar strung between them as the evening creeps on and Jaskier will be arriving…

...should be arriving….

...is late.

His name has been passed through the crowd all night, first in excited anticipation, then in annoyed snarks, but at the first murmurs of concern Geralt ducks down the hall. He’s not the one to field questions usually and especially not tonight, not looking like he’s going to tear the very head from whoever dares approach. He knows he should stay, it’s a Friday night and it’s his damn bar but Jaskier isn’t there.

Jaskier isn’t there and he was blacking out and for all Geralt knew he _was_ blacked out. Geralt slams the door to his truck with more force than necessary, wishing he were on Roach if only so he could ride his unease out, the cool night air would force all thoughts from his mind. 

Geralt starts driving, automatically turning towards the apartments even though he knows he won’t go in, he _shouldn’t_ go so much as to Jaskier’s door but he doesn’t change routes. The apartment complex is small enough it’s easy to spot Jaskier’s car in the parking lot and Geralt tells himself to be satisfied with this knowledge, Jaskier is home and Betty is next door. If the stories he’s heard from Eskel and the brief mentions from Jaskier are anything to go by, the woman has probably not stopped checking on Jaskier since she brought him home from work, she would know before any of them if something happened.

The thought is enough to drive Geralt away.

Geralt debates going home for Roach, but he knows the only thing more dangerous than night riding is night riding when he's distracted; he’d done that once before and Roach hadn’t been the only one to pay the price. Geralt knows he’s made the right decision when he swears he sees Jaskier walking down the sidewalk, shaking his head he focuses back on the road. 

The obnoxiously lit Ferris wheel spinning atop a building draws Geralt’s attention, he’d often detoured this way home at night if Ciri was with him so she could see the lights of the museum. Geralt’s mind has two such conflicting thoughts at once he wrenches the truck into the nearest entrance, slamming it into park before he does serious damage. 

That couldn’t be Jaskier walking home because his car was parked at the apartments and he’d worked out his schedule so he would be off in time to play at the White Wolf. That _couldn’t_ be Jaskier walking home, down dark streets, late at night in the same fucking town as Valdo Marx.

Geralt whips the truck around, slowing at the exit to the road as he glances the way he’d come before barreling up the street and around the next corner. As he heads the opposite direction on a street parallel to the one he saw someone distinctly _not_ Jaskier, Geralt tries to remember how many he’d passed before reaching the museum and how much further not Jaskier would have gone, if he would have taken any of the cross streets yet. 

Peering down each one in the hopes of catching the man crossing at the other end, Geralt works his way down the road, finally cutting across where he hopes will be far enough down. The brightly lit main road awaits him and he looks in the direction of the museum but the sidewalk is empty and Geralt fears Jaskier did turn down one of the alleys in some shortcut he’d devised. 

Geralt glances in the opposite direction, hoping for miscounted streets or a faster pace, anything to keep him from driving the rest of the night, trying to convince himself it wasn’t Jaskier he’d seen. Someone is listening as there’s a lone figure ambling up the sidewalk, just halfway between him and the next corner.

“Jaskier!” Geralt’s out of the truck, the door open behind him and calling his name before he can think better of it. Shoulders hunching as the figure slows to a stop and Geralt knows he wasn’t wrong, Jaskier was walking, presumably home, from work if the bright shirt is any indication. Jaskier stalls where he’s at on the sidewalk, only moving back towards Geralt when he starts towards him. 

Geralt forces himself not to run to Jaskier, biting back the words he knows will come out harsh, fear sharpening their edges as he keeps an even pace towards him. 

“Geralt.” His name is accompanied by clicks and Geralt realizes his teeth are chattering, no coat in sight as things had gone sideways before they could go shopping.

“Just get off work?” Geralt forces his tone to be light but it seems to only put Jaskier more on edge as he says, “Yeah. How’d you know?” 

Geralt gestures to Jaskier’s shirt, _Wrangler_ written in script across it and Jaskier’s lips quirk as he nods to himself, of course. “I,” Geralt knows he must choose his words carefully. “Thought I saw you. Can I drop you off on my way back?” 

Jaskier studies Geralt, uncertainty in his eyes but unable to find the trick in the offer he nods and murmurs his thanks. Geralt matches his pace to Jaskier’s slower one, noting the ragged Converse are probably doing little to keep his feet warm. Walking this direction puts them facing the wind and Jaskier’s arms are quick to come up once more, crossed over his chest as though their thin barrier has any hopes of protecting him from the wind. 

“Here.” Jaskier turns at the word, confused as to what Geralt is referencing only to find the man shrugging out of his coat. Jaskier stutters a protest as Geralt settles the jacket around his shoulders, his hands automatically grasping the edges of the coat to prevent it from sliding off his shoulders. 

It’s heavier than he expected, but still warm from Geralt’s body heat and easily blocks the sharp wind whipping down the street at them. Geralt has slowly started forward once more so Jaskier does too, his arms easily slipping into the sleeves, legs protesting the added weight they’re forced to carry but they’re nearly to Geralt’s truck and the relief it promises. 

Geralt ignores his own open door and heads around the far side of the truck, opening the door for Jaskier before he thinks through the gesture. Geralt catches the corner of a grin before Jaskier ducks his head and clambers into the truck, fumbling for a handle to help him in. 

Easily slipping back into the driver’s seat Geralt shuts his door while cranking the heat, winter has never really bothered him but a chill lingers in the truck’s cab and Jaskier doesn’t have enough body to create heat for his jacket to trap. Geralt tries not to stare at the way Jaskier’s slender fingers curl over the frayed cuffs as he clicks his seatbelt into place, the way the W and r rest on his arms like patches instead of stretched proudly across his shoulder blades. 

Geralt tears his gaze from Jaskier and with it the image of him in a Witcher jacket of his own. 

The ride back to Jaskier’s apartment is silent save for the faint strains of a familiar song fighting the roar of the vents as they fill the cab with warmth. Geralt glances at Jaskier to see if he’s noticed that it was his song playing when they got in the truck, having ended the opening chords of the next song are one of his as well; Geralt’s phone having automatically connected and started when he’d set out that night. 

Jaskier doesn’t say anything but there’s a softness to his features and Geralt hopes it’s because he Jaskier can hear his songs and understands what his listening to them means. 

The steadily warming cab chases away the chill Jaskier can’t seem to shake anymore and the comforting smell of Geralt’s jacket lull him to sleep. When Geralt parks his truck before Jaskier’s apartment he turns to find Jaskier curled in the seat, his legs tucked up with him as though he were trying to bring them closer to the warmth, features relaxed in sleep. 

Geralt can’t bring himself to wake Jaskier, to force him back into the cold night even if it’s only long enough for him to get into his apartment. The thought of Jaskier disappearing behind that door, shutting him out once again has Geralt putting the truck in reverse and driving once more into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several of you thought Jaskier called Valdo and I know I've done some terrible things in this fic but give me a *little* bit of credit. 
> 
> At least our boys are back together...guess we'll see if it stays that way.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears burn Jaskier’s eyes as his frustration mounts, he’s so tired and he’s finally warm but he doesn’t understand what they want anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you for reading and/or sharing your thoughts! Your comments get me through the days and I can't thank you enough for that.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to the lovely VeritasRose. Betareader extraordinaire.

Jaskier slowly wakes, his mind fighting to return to sleep but there’s too many things that don’t align with what he knows he should be waking to. He thinks he’s fallen asleep on his couch again but the blanket on him is too heavy to be his and the spicy scent coming from it is comforting so he pulls it closer around him. 

Opening his eyes Jaskier places the source of the permeating warmth and soft crackling, a fire is going in the fireplace across from him. Sleep welcomes Jaskier once more, offering a respite from the dull ache in his stomach he knows would lessen if he forced himself up and got a glass of water but he’s warm and– 

Jaskier lurches up, not a blanket, a heavy leather jacket and not just _a_ couch and a fireplace. He’s in Geralt’s living room. Jaskier's head pounds at the sudden movement, whiting out further thoughts as he swallows thickly, willing his stomach not to force up the acid within. 

Geralt pauses where he’d been stepping from the kitchen back into the living room at the sight of Jaskier sitting up, well more him swaying in place, eyes unfocused. “Jaskier?” Geralt keeps his voice low, regretting bringing him here as he fears Jaskier feels trapped.

“Geralt. What…?” Jaskier pulls the jacket tighter around him as he blinks sleep from his eyes. 

“You were walking home from work.” Something Geralt was still not happy about but knew now was not the time to address it. “I picked you up. You fell asleep on the way back to your apartment and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

Jaskier nods at Geralt’s explanation, embarrassed that he’d not only fallen asleep but that Geralt had been forced to bring him to his own house. “Sorry.” Jaskier murmurs. He had hazy memories of the truck; he swears he heard his songs playing from Geralt’s speakers and it had been warm, the leather jacket a comforting weight that reminded Jaskier of the clothes Geralt had lent him his first night. 

“I hope you don’t mind I brought you here, I didn’t want to enter your apartment without your permission.” Geralt says, seemingly ignoring Jaskier’s apology. Jaskier turns the words over in his head, not quite sure what to make of them.

“Oh.” Jaskier nods slowly, still uncertain but feeling the urge to acknowledge his words. Geralt seems unsure what to do and edges toward the couch but instead of sitting on it he perches on the edge of an adjacent overstuffed chair. 

“I made something to eat,” Geralt starts. Jaskier knows it’s far past the dinner hour, but he has no idea how long he’s been asleep, the world outside the impossibly tall windows is the undecipherable dark that could be late into the night or early in the morning. Jaskier studies Geralt’s face, taking in his open posture but none of it tells him what answer he’s supposed to give. 

“Are you hungry, Jaskier?” Geralt tries a different tact when his previous opening garners no response. 

“Yes.” Jaskier admits. It was ok to admit he was hungry, it wasn’t shameful to be hungry, it was just when he gave into that, when he let himself be weak that it was bad. He didn’t want to be fat as well as useless, useless was bad enough but he was working on that too. 

A small smile pulls Geralt's lips as he slowly rises, Jaskier had gotten better about sudden movements but Geralt and the others were still careful not to sneak up on him or move too quickly towards him just in case. 

“Um, bathroom?” Jaskier asks before Geralt can go too far. Geralt indicates a door behind the chair he’d been sitting in, it was a ways down from the foot of the stairs. Jaskier thanks him and stands, hating to slip the comforting weight of the jacket from his shoulders but trying to wash his hands would be a trick with it on.

Jaskier carefully drapes it over the couch arm and heads for the bathroom, catching a glimpse of Geralt’s back as he passes in front of the archway to the kitchen. With the scant few minutes Jaskier takes to use the bathroom he’s surprised to find Geralt waiting for him when he comes out. 

He’s settled back in the chair, his back to Jaskier as he faces the windows, the firelight casting the room’s reflection over the glass and the woods beyond. Jaskier pads across the floor, the warmth from the fireplace welcoming him back with each step. 

The sight of a tray on the coffee table, two large mugs, wisps of steam curling from them, with spoons resting between falter Jaskier’s steps, the delicious smell washing over him, tempting him. He tears his eyes from them and hopes Geralt didn’t notice his hesitation, his want as he takes his seat back on the couch, one cushion over so he’s further from the tray. 

When it’s clear Jaskier isn’t going to claim either of the mugs of soup, Geralt shifts forward, having ensured they were both half filled at most, he offers one to Jaskier, handle first. Panicked blue eyes plead with him not to make him take it, Jaskier knows he won’t be able to resist it once it’s in his hands. 

“Please, Jaskier.” Jaskier accepts the mug, curling his fingers around the warmth, relishing the feeling as the cold is chased from them. Geralt passes over a spoon as he collects his own cup, settling back in the chair Jaskier notes Geralt doesn't watch him, his gaze is turned to the window and the night beyond.

Jaskier rests the mug on his bent knees, as far from him as he can go without setting it back on the table as he struggles not to give in, bargaining with himself about promises he knows he won’t keep. _Just half...five spoonfuls...a_ sip. 

“It’s ok Jaskier, to be hungry, to _eat_.” Jaskier turns from where he’s been glaring at the cup to Geralt, distrust at not understanding the game. Didn’t they want him to be better? 

“Please Jaskier, you need to eat.” Geralt can’t remember anymore if this is what the sites said to do or not, he’s read so many by now he can’t keep it straight anymore but he’d struggled to collect him from the truck, Jaskier feeling barely heavier than his jacket when Geralt scooped him from the seat and he’d known they couldn’t wait any longer. 

Tears burn Jaskier’s eyes as his frustration mounts, he’s so tired and he’s finally warm but he doesn’t understand what they want anymore. He thought he was doing good, he was working _so hard_ at being better but they seemed so upset when they came over. And now Geralt is making him eat and it’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to eat but– 

“Jask, you’re safe. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Geralt’s gentle reminder slows Jaskier’s racing thoughts, pulling him back with a shaky nod. 

“You _are_ hungry.” The first question is easy, Jaskier already answered it but he answers again with a soft, “Yes.” 

“Do you want to eat?” Geralt didn’t know where the disconnect was, though he knew somewhere tangled up in there, no matter if Jaskier wanted to eat or not, he seemed to barely be able to without pain. 

Jaskier turns this question over in his head, this was only slightly different than asking if he was hungry, it was ok to be hungry but admitting he was felt almost wrong, shameful. What would Geralt think of him? But maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe it wasn’t all that different after all because he could _want_ to eat but he was only weak if he gave into it. 

“Yes.” The way Jaskier’s answer almost seems excited disturbs Geralt, there was something distinctly wrong about Jaskier being hungry and wanting to eat but for some reason not. 

“Will you eat?” Geralt doesn’t know how else to phrase it so Jaskier doesn’t think the answer is built into the question. 

Jaskier looks pained at the question, the eagerness that had tinged his last response is gone as Jaskier fiddles with the spoon, moving the soup around but not consuming any. “I shouldn’t. I need to be better.” Jaskier admits to the bowl. 

Geralt is grateful for the sturdy cups as he forces himself to ease his grip at Jaskier’s words, sending a silent plea for the monster that is Valdo Marx to cross his path just one more time. The silence stretches on for what Geralt knows is far too long a time but he’s certain anything he says right now would come out a growl and the last thing Jaskier needs is to think Geralt agrees with him or worse, is angry for answering. 

Finally, calmed enough Geralt’s sure his words won’t bite he asks, “Better at what, Jask?” 

Jaskier blinks, his spoon’s rhythmic scraping interrupted by a sharp clink against the cup’s side. It’s been so long since he thought about it he doesn’t really remember anymore, he just knows he _needs_ to be better. The wrongness of it twists inside him and he swallows sickeningly. 

“Jask,” Glassy blue eyes turn on Geralt and Yennefer’s words come back to haunt him, _We can’t fuck this up._ “You don’t have to be better for us, for me, ok.” The doubt is clear on Jaskier’s face and any mercy Marx may have been granted vanishes along with it. 

The uncertainty slowly fades in the ensuing silence as Jaskier thinks over all Geralt’s said but it sounds too good, too _easy_. 

“Since you want to and you are hungry, maybe you can eat?” Geralt fumbles over the words, trying not to make it sound like a command, unsure how to undo the months of damage Marx had wrought. 

The slow scrape of Jaskier’s spoon around the bottom of his bowl sounds again, round and round as his thoughts go. Geralt was always making him food and encouraging him to eat; Valdo was the opposite, he reminded Jaskier not to eat, told him he’d had enough. 

“Do you _want_ me to eat?” Jaskier’s eyes slide to Geralt who knows there are few things he’s ever wanted more.

“I worry about you, Jaskier. You need to eat to get,” Geralt catches himself before he can undo what little progress he’s not entirely sure he’s even made, “Well.” 

Jaskier eyes Geralt, suspicion in his eyes as he tentatively brings the mug to his lips, taking the smallest of swallows, but Geralt’s smile is tender, not the disgusted sneer Valdo so often directed at Jaskier when he ate. 

The soup is delicious and warm and deceptively gentle. Jaskier continues sipping it, pretending to watch the fire but each time he brings the mug to his mouth his eyes would dart to Geralt, but all he finds there is pleased encouragement. 

Jaskier gets half the mug down, the warmth from the soup helping soothe away the ache in his stomach and he even attempts a few of the bits of chicken Geralt had added before his stomach cramps, the pain would double him over if he weren’t already sitting. With measured breaths Jaskier waits for the pain to abate before carefully leaning forward and setting the mug back on the tray.

Geralt doesn’t miss the way Jaskier stiffened or the tightness of his features, recognizing them from recent family dinners he rises, intending to collect the bowls and busy himself in the kitchen, certain Jaskier would feel more comfortable without an audience to his discomfort but his name, wrapped in the softest plea, pulls him back. 

Geralt turns to find Jaskier with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his aching stomach. “Sorry. I just...don’t want to be alone” Jaskier whispers, hating that he wants comfort.

Geralt hesitates before he sits next to Jaskier on the couch, watching for any signs of discomfort but Jaskier leans the slightest bit towards Geralt as he slowly breathes through his nose and his words come back to Geralt. How often had Jaskier gone home after he’d forced himself to eat at family dinner only to be alone and in pain.

“Thank you for eating, Jaskier.” Jaskier eyes him without turning his gaze from the fire but a smile quirks the edges of his lips. 

An easy silence settles between them but in it lurks Jaskier’s thoughts, growing louder until he can’t stand it anymore and he whimpers, “Please.” 

“Jask?” Geralt asks gently, fearing encouraging him to eat has done real damage, only then does Jaskier realize his plea wasn’t just in his head. “What can I do?” 

“Talk to me.” The words are little more than a whisper but Geralt has a good idea what it cost Jaskier to ask him, he just wishes he were better at this.

“About what?” Geralt doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer, that Jaskier used up what little he had asking Geralt to stay and talk to him but a bitten out, “Anything,” comes from beside him.

Geralt’s mind goes blank, he wasn’t used to being the one to fill the silence, the people he surrounded himself with were good at that, but Jaskier needed him and so he would.

“Do you know how Roach got her name?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier’s amused smile is tempered by honest intrigue as he says, “Nope.” His eyebrow raising. Geralt’s rough voice soothing as he tells Jaskier of the first time he crashed Roach and rebuilt her from the few salvageable pieces, doing that each time he wiped out. 

As the sky slowly brightens outside Geralt finds Jaskier has shifted closer to him, leaning into Geralt rubbing his back as he’d seen Yennefer do for Ciri when she’s sick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always read through the chapters before I post them because I leave notes to myself in there that you, dear readers, don't necessarily want. Like this one: [IS IT OBVIOUS GERALT=COMFORT FOR HIM?]  
> For the record, the author still isn't sure on this answer.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt doesn’t know what to say, the moment dragging until it’s too late for anything he says to sound genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to brag but I'm going to because you all deserve it. You are The Best readers.
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing this and letting me bounce ideas.

Jaskier thought Saturday was going pretty well all things considered. He’d had a hectic morning as Geralt had to return him to his car so he could change and drive to work, he’d offered to drive him and pick him up but Jaskier figured he’d already been enough of an imposition. Not to mention the memories of Geralt soothing and reassuring him had permanently stained his cheeks. 

Geralt had caught his eye and somehow Jaskier knew he was calling a break after the current song, answering with a slight nod before he realized he’d understood exactly what Geralt wanted. Jaskier has barely settled on what he’s come to think of as his stool, and that’s never something he’d ever thought he’d lay claim to, especially in a biker bar, when Lambert stalks up claiming Geralt’s seat before he can. 

“Jaskier.” Lambert drawls and Jaskier fights the urge to shrink back and mostly succeeds. He’d taken to mailing his car payment to Lambert’s shop, not wanting to taint Sunday with business and he’d shared enough dinners with the man to note the difference between the bouncer-snarl he wears at the White Wolf most nights and his resting-murder face.

Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell which one Lambert was fixing on him but the tone told him enough. “Lambert. I mailed the check last week but I can write you another and bring it tomorrow. Or tonight. Leave now and–” Jaskier wills himself to stop rambling but Lambert is where Geralt usually is and his face only grows stonier with each word. 

“We’re done. That’s the last check you cut, got it.” Lambert growls. 

Jaskier didn’t want to admit that no, he didn’t actually get it but he knew it would be so much worse to hope this problem just went away. “If cash is better I can–” Jaskier starts but Lambert cuts him off.

“You’ve paid for it. The car is yours.” Lambert mutters something under his breath that Jaskier guesses is an expletive in a different language if the tone is anything to go by. Before Jaskier can protest Lambert is stalking back into the dark depths of the White Wolf, putting as much distance and as many tables between him and Jaskier as he can. 

Jaskier is still staring after him when Triss comments, “He cares. He’s shit at showing it, but he cares.” 

“The car?” Geralt cuts in as he settles on the stool next to Jaskier, turned to face him, effectively shielding him from the busy bar. Jaskier is distracted from the bowl Geralt had slid in front of him as he sat down by his words.

“You talked to him?” Jaskier’s tone is weighed down by shame. He didn’t need Geralt to fix things for him, he could do it himself. 

“No,” Geralt’s eyes search the dim bar. “I’ve just known him long enough to make a guess.” Geralt turns back but the hurt has cleared from Jaskier’s face and he nudges the bowl, encouraging. Jaskier is surprised when his usual plain, grilled chicken sandwich is missing and instead a small bowl of what looks to be yogurt and fresh chopped fruit sits before him.

“You don’t have to finish it.” Geralt’s fingers twitch as he wills himself not to take the bowl away, certain Jaskier will be offended but Jaskier just pulls it closer, hesitance stemming only in the fear of pain. But he knows Geralt wouldn’t give him anything that might make him sick and so Jaskier takes a small bite, the small piece of strawberry tempering the sharp tang of plain yogurt. 

Jaskier takes it slow, getting half down before his stomach starts rebelling and with a disappointed look he leaves his spoon in the bowl. “Thank you. I’m sorry I can’t finish it.” Jaskier murmurs. 

“It’s better that you’re not sick.” Geralt reasons and Jaskier nods, accepting the small victory since Geralt seemed pleased. Yennefer’s surprised to find Jaskier’s water glass hasn’t been emptied yet, so used to refilling it but the night was full of surprises as Geralt had canceled his standing order of a grilled chicken sandwich in lieu of yogurt and fruit. 

o~O~o

Jaskier’s apartment feels too quiet and his mind can’t seem to settle enough to write and he finds himself entertaining the idea of walking to the White Wolf just to kill time. He’s pulling on his Converse and wishing not for the first time that he had a coat for the walk home when he fumbles the laces, Geralt wouldn’t let him walk home.

He doesn’t know how he’s certain of the idea, he just _knows_ that Geralt would insist on driving him home, Yennefer too and probably even Eskel and Triss, but Geralt would insist and he wouldn’t be happy about Jaskier walking. Jaskier finishes tying his shoes, trying to decipher why he thinks this but even not fully understanding, it’s enough to keep him from starting the walk there. 

With no good excuse to stall any longer Jaskier gathers the dish he’d made and heads out the door, he would be early but it’s never been a problem before. 

Jaskier passes the mashed potato bake he’d over the bar to Triss who disappears into the kitchen with it before he ambles towards the office where he’s hoping to find Geralt. It’s only once he’s there, Geralt looking up at him from his desk, fear in his eyes, does he think how this must look and that he really didn’t know what he was going to say once he arrived.

“Jaskier.” There’s so much in his name, questioning if he’s ok as golden eyes skim over him as though the wounds would be printed on his shirt. 

“Sorry I’m early, I just…” Jaskier doesn’t know how to explain the anxiety thrumming through him, the restlessness that had slowly worn him down though sleep still refused to claim him. “I was gonna walk here, but.” Jaskier shrugs, needing to fill the silence but rethinking his choice too late.

Geralt holds back the anger that wells within him, reminding himself that Jaskier _hadn’t_ walked and that was something, that was a start. “You’re always more than welcome here. I’m glad you drove, it’s too cold to be walking.” Geralt tries, careful of his wording lest Jaskier take it the wrong way. 

Jaskier nods, pleased that he’d been right and Geralt wouldn’t have been happy with him walking. When Geralt doesn’t return to what he was working on Jaskier grows uneasy, “Sorry to interrupt.” 

“You’re not. I’m happy you’re here.” The surprise on Jaskier’s face hurts and Geralt wonders how often Jaskier thought he wasn’t wanted somewhere. Geralt falters, he had debated texting and asking Jaskier but thought it best to do it in person, he just hoped there’d be a natural opening.

“If you’re free next Sunday would you like to go to the pumpkin patch?” Geralt asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as unsure as he thinks he does.

“Sure.” Jaskier smiles, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks as he ducks his head, embarrassed and Geralt remembers the last time he’d invited him to something and how disastrous it had nearly been and here he was about to repeat the same mistake.

“I take Ciri every year, it’s tradition.” Geralt adds, hating how it sounds, that Jaskier probably feels obligated to go and hurt that it’s not a date.

“I wouldn’t be...intruding?” Jaskier asks, anxiety easing a little as it’s not a date, but a chance to be .

“No, I think Ciri would be very excited you’re joining us. _I’d_ like you to join us.” Geralt adds, hoping it’s not too much, knowing Jaskier is nowhere near the right mindset to start dating but that doesn’t mean they can’t still have a relationship. 

“Sounds fun.” Jaskier does blush in earnest this time. The sound of Ciri’s voice carrying down the hall announces her and Yennefer’s arrival, Jaskier moving out of the doorway as rapidly approaching footsteps are heard and Ciri appears in the doorway.

“Pama!” Ciri exclaims before she’s fully in the office, not caring if Geralt isn’t actually in there as she knows her call will draw him out regardless of where he is. “Julian!’ Ciri hugs Jaskier with a ferocity before she’s bounding around the desk and scrabbling into Geralt’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Hello little cub.” Geralt greets her fondly, bringing up a hand to brace her so she doesn’t fall as she rearranges herself. “I thought Jaskier might join us next weekend when we go to the pumpkin patch. What do–” Geralt doesn’t get a chance to finish the question before Ciri’s excited cheers fill the office and Jaskier and Geralt share a smile over her head. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this much excitement coming from this office.” Yennefer’s dry comment announces her arrival as she surveys the scene before her.

“Julian is going to the pumpkin patch with us, mommy!” Ciri cheers excitedly and Geralt leans slightly away. 

Yennefer winces in sympathy at Geralt. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” She whispers to Jaskier who can’t tell if she’s kidding or not and doesn’t get the chance to ask as she continues. “Guess we should head out there before they decide to move dinner back here.”

“Piggy back!” Ciri cries, already scrambling around before Geralt’s fully risen. 

“Ciri.” Yennefer sighs but Geralt waves her concern away as he kneels before his chair and Ciri launches herself at Geralt, his hands deftly locking behind his back so she doesn’t slip off as he rises. Yennefer is the first out, Geralt following, glancing at Jaskier as he passes, suddenly bashful Geral's cheeks burn but Jaskier just smiles, finding the big biker giving a piggy back ride to Ciri in rainbow tights and a faded band t-shirt precious. 

They fall into an easy rhythm of rearranging the tables and getting drinks, Jaskier calls for drink orders even though they rarely change, already preparing them as a chorus of responses sound. Missing the surreptitious looks as he fills his glass with water, hesitating before adding it to the tray and carrying it to the table. 

The same hesitance hangs in the air once more as plates are exchanged, but Geralt sets the standard by adding a small scoop of the cheesy broccoli rigatoni he made, a matching spoonful of mashed potato bake and salad being added before it makes its way back down to Jaskier. 

Geralt offers what he hopes is a supporting smile as he sets the plate before Jaskier, trying not to think how there’s barely more food on his plate than Ciri’s but Jaskier accepts the meal with a resolute nod. 

“You don’t have to finish it.” Geralt keeps his voice low, though the others still hear, they pretend they don’t, their conversation continuing easily. Jaskier’s stomach twists at the food before him, repeating what Geralt told him, noting there doesn’t seem to be any trick to the words. 

“What are you going to be for Halloween this year Ciri?” Yennefer glares at Eskel but it’s a good distraction as Ciri begins excitedly describing several, all vastly different, possibilities. Jaskier loses himself in the conversation, taking small bites, surprised to find his potato bake turned out he makes a mental note to thank Betty for the recipe and help making it; he’s unsurprised the rigatoni is good, Geralt is a fantastic cook. 

Picking the broccoli out, Jaskier struggles with each piece not to scrape the cheese off, counting each one as a little victory when he doesn’t. When his plate is nothing more than starches the doubt starts to creep in and Jaskier steadies himself with a sip of water, stealing a glance at Geralt who isn’t watching him in disapproval. He gets two noodles down before the pain becomes unbearable and he abandons his fork, taking sips of water in hopes of easing the cramps. 

Geralt doesn’t miss the arm Jaskier has wrapped around his stomach, a glance at his plate and it’s apparent why. “Sorry.” Jaskier murmurs, the table’s conversation stuttering before staggering on. Geralt doesn’t know what to say, the moment dragging until it’s too late for anything he says to sound genuine.

Jaskier tries to help clean up but his movements are stilted, starting and stopping at seemingly random points but Geralt has a feeling it’s when a cramp grips him. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” Jaskier regretfully announces, hoping to make it to the car before the next pain starts, he just wants to be home on his couch wrapped in his blanket. 

“But dessert! I made brownies.” Ciri announces, kneeling on her chair and peering over the back of it at Jaskier who’s leaning at the end of the bar as casually as he can. 

“And we’ll send him home with one.” Yennefer supplies, saving Jaskier who smiles gratefully at her. Yennefer sets about wrapping up Jaskier a piece of brownie under Ciri’s watchful gaze when Geralt steps from the kitchen, the usual to go container and balanced on top a tupperware container. 

“I’m sorry about dinner.” Geralt says, even as he offers Jaskier the containers. Jaskier accepts them, mind warring against what Geralt is saying and his actions, the two not aligning. “If you’re not feeling up for it, maybe the soup will be easier.” Now it’s named Jaskier identifies the tupperware container’s contents, the soup from when he’d fallen asleep. 

“Thanks.” Jaskier’s smile is thoughtful as he looks at the container and Geralt hopes that means he’ll eat it, or at least attempt. 

“Some of Geralt’s magical soup. Lucky.” Yennefer comments, tucking the brownie on top of the containers. Jaskier’s smile is more pained, due to the cramps or prospect of a brownie Geralt isn’t sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the progress carriage inching along like it's being pulled by a snail. But at least we're getting somewhere?
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely weekend and thank you again for reading!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has rarely felt fear like this, the sudden twisting where things are out of control and you can do nothing to stop them but watch and hope and deal with the fallout as best you can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to the most wonderful readers! I hope you all are having a good week. You all brighten my week by just reading and/or sharing your thoughts!

“Geralt, we need you out front.” The words are directed at Geralt but Eskel is looking towards the bar. It’s not the first time Geralt has been summoned when something has gone sideways in the bar, it _is_ a biker bar, it’s how they know they're doing things right.

Between the odd timing and obvious concern in Eskel’s voice Geralt has a feeling this isn't a normal brawl and is quick to follow Eskel, running through who is supposed to be on shift and if they'll need to involve the police or if it might be handled privately. 

For the briefest of moments Geralt thinks Marx might have strolled in, mouthing about joining the Witchers but he quickly dismisses the idea as Eskel would have handled it rather than getting him. 

Geralt doesn’t expect to find Jaskier, guitar case in hand, standing in front of the bar, posture stiff as agitation pours off of him. Eskel is keeping his distance like he thinks Jaskier is going to lash out but Geralt’s never seen him like this before and while he doesn’t believe Jaskier would, he can’t be sure. 

As soon as Geralt steps from the hallway a little of the tension holding Jaskier stiff seems to ease. “Geralt, please tell her to knock it off. I play here.” Geralt’s never seen Jaskier turn such hateful eyes on anyone before but they soften as they turn to him, his voice pleading, “You promised I could keep playing here.” 

“You can, Jask. It’s ok, you can play here as long as you want.” Geralt reassures, glancing at Yennefer who looks concerned rather than upset at Jaskier's odd behavior. “You just usually play the weekends.” Jaskier looks betrayed at Geralt’s words and he’s not sure what he’s done.

“What day do you think it is?” Eskel’s seemingly random question draws confused looks from Yennefer and Geralt but Jaskier's tired, “Friday”, scares them.

Geralt has rarely felt fear like this, the sudden twisting where things are out of control and you can do nothing to stop them but watch and hope and deal with the fallout as best you can. Except he’s been watching and hoping this fallout instead of dealing with it.

“Jask,” Geralt moves closer, feeling silly that they’re treating him like they expect him to start swinging his guitar at them. “It’s Wednesday.” 

“No, I…” Jaskier starts to argue but Geralt wouldn’t lie to him and “Oh cock, I’m late.” Jaskier looks like he’s ready to bolt but Geralt’s there, hand hovering but not daring to grab his arm.

“Wait. Just take a minute.” Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier rushing off to another work that might also be the wrong one. “Where do you think you’re supposed to be?” 

The question seems to upset Jaskier further as he opens his mouth to respond only to realize he doesn’t actually know, which is probably how he wound up here in the first place. 

“Do you keep your schedule on your phone?” Yennefer asks, her tone the same one she uses when trying to calm Ciri after a nightmare. Jaskier nods, hand jamming first in one pocket, passing the guitar to check the other, his agitation only growing when he can’t find his phone.

“I must’ve left it at the apartment.” Jaskier mumbles, setting down his guitar to check his pockets again like he could have missed them but the gesture is hardly noticed as this is the first good look Eskel and Yennefer get at the damage Jaskier had done. The jeans are still folded over on the sides, the belt rethreaded through far too many belt loops.

Geralt has a sinking feeling the odds are good that Jaskier is expected at either of his jobs and they may already be calling since he didn’t show up but clearly he is in no position to be working. 

Geralt looks to Yennefer, willing her to tear her eyes from Jaskier’s waist before he notices and is relieved when she finally does, meeting his eyes she understands the need there.

“Jaskier, why don’t I call your...works and tell them you won’t be coming in today.” Her normally unwavering mom tone has a quiver to it and Geralt knows she’ll keep it together as long as Jaskier is before her. 

“No, I _have_ to go in.” Jaskier presses, agitation rising again. 

“Jaskier–”

  
“I’m _not_ useless, I’m not, I just…” The fight seems to drain out of Jaskier, the carefully forced away tiredness rearing its ugly head and Geralt fears Jaskier is going to collapse. 

“You’re not useless, Jaskier.” Geralt argues. 

“Working three fucking jobs.” Eskel grumbles but their protests seem to do little in the way of dissuading Jaskier’s belief that he’s useless. 

Too many questions need to be asked but Geralt fears overwhelming him and starts with the most pressing, keeping him here. “Let Yenn call your works, ok?” Jaskier looks uncertain and Geralt isn’t sure if it’s having someone else do it or that it would be done at all. “Then you can stay and have lunch with me.” Jaskier shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again but finally nods, knowing Geralt was safe. 

Yennefer slips through the flip-counter and down the hall towards the office, she could easily search the phone numbers she needed and this way Jaskier wouldn’t hear her calling, saying what she didn’t yet have figured out. 

“Why don’t you keep me company while Geralt scares us up some lunch?” Eskel offers Jaskier, already leaning his guitar case against one of the empty tables, Jaskier following more out of automatic response than actual desire. 

Geralt shoots Eskel a grateful look before ducking into the kitchen, mind scrambling for something Jaskier could handle. If he was this out of it Geralt hoped it was because he hadn’t eaten and been working too much, that it wasn’t one of the horrifying results he’s sure a search of symptoms would suggest. 

Checking the staff shelf of the fridge Geralt makes a mental note to replace Triss’ yogurt in triplicate as he grabs the carton out, stealing Yennefer’s lunchbox as well as he knows she’ll have some form of fresh fruit tucked within. Geralt works quickly, scraping yogurt into a bowl he’s happy to find blueberries and raspberries courtesy of Yennefer, adding a couple spoonfuls of each. The result isn’t much but Geralt knows he’ll be lucky if Jaskier even manages half of it. 

Jaskier and Eskel are right where he left them, Eskel seeming to be carrying on a one-sided conversation though Jaskier seems to be listening and following. Geralt grabs a clean glass, scooping ice into it he fills it with water before slipping a spoon into the bowl. 

Catching himself before he can embarrass Jaskier, he returns to the kitchen, seeking anything quick and easy for Eskel and himself since the man had oh so helpfully noted they would all be dining. Geralt ends up dividing the leftovers he’d brought for lunch across two plates, fairly certain it doesn’t matter as he doubts either of them will take much notice of what they’re eating. 

Setting it before Jaskier is a whole other matter, the water glass seeming damning and Geralt wishes there was something else for Jaskier to drink, something else he _would_ drink. Geralt eyes the table and hopes Jaskier is out of it enough not to take too much notice of his paltry fair compared to their own as shame twists his stomach for having such thoughts. 

Jaskier stirs the yogurt, as he takes the smallest of bites he eyes Geralt who is quick to take a bite of his own, the gesture seeming to settle Jaskier. Geralt tries to think back, tries to remember anything that might encourage Jaskier to eat, how to make him more comfortable as he wraps a hand around his stomach, the gesture familiar. 

“Triss keeps trying to convince me to decorate the bar.” Geralt starts, Eskel’s eyebrows raising, his friend not normally one for bland conversation. Geralt’s eyes flick to Jaskier who had taken the opportunity to take something closer to a real bite and Eskel tries to play along.

“I’m sure Ciri would be more than happy to help her. Maybe get some of those fake cobwebs.” 

“We have enough real ones.” Geralt grumbles, Jaskier’s mouth twitching up towards a smile. The conversation isn’t smooth but it’s enough of a distraction to keep Jaskier eating. 

Yennefer returns, her lavender eyes darker, the only sign she took an extra moment to let a few tears fall, just enough the rest wouldn’t spill over. “You know she’s going to decorate regardless of what you say.” She joins into the conversation, filling the gaps they stumble over. 

Yennefer helps herself to Geralt’s plate, stealing bites of food, softly telling Jaskier, “You can have more if you want.” Jaskier turns over her words but shakes his head and Geralt has a sinking feeling it’s because the small amount was truly enough. 

Jaskier tries to fight a yawn but loses, having to hide it behind his hand as tired eyes try to blink their way to a wakefulness. Yennefer smiles fondly, Jaskier reminding her of a toddler who has gotten their belly full and needs a nap, which honestly, might not be the worst thing for him. 

Yennefer starts stacking the dishes as she casually suggests, “Why don’t you stretch out on the couch, hun.” Jaskier’s eyes drag their way to Yennefer, surprised but too sluggish to form a coherent argument. Nudging Eskel’s leg with her foot gets him moving, gathering the rest of the dishes they leave Geralt with Jaskier. 

Geralt has no idea how to get Jaskier to the couch, doesn’t have the tender words Yennefer would use to lead him back, but he knows he doesn’t like the idea of him leaving much less driving and he supposes that will have to do. 

“Lay down, just for a bit. You shouldn’t drive if you’re this tired.” Jaskier sways slightly where he sits, his blinks becoming longer and Geralt thinks he may have to carry him back but Jaskier uses the table to shove himself up. Geralt moves to his side, ready to steady him should he fall but Jaskier seems a little more awake on his feet but waiting to be led.

The walk across the bar and down the hall is slow, Jaskier’s hand trailing over chair backs and the wall, steps scuffing and slowing each time another yawn overtakes him. Jaskier drops onto the couch in what Geralt thinks of as his spot, his arms tucked into his chest, knees brought up against them as he leans against the arm. It pains Geralt to think Jaskier feels the need to protect himself, to make himself smaller but the restless shifting, tugging at sleeves to curl them around fingers suggest something else entirely. 

There’s no blankets in the office and Geralt debates asking if Yennefer for the one she keeps in her car for Ciri, but doesn’t like the idea that Jaskier might stir and see he’s gone, thinking he’s chased Geralt from the office. 

Geralt picks up the closest thing to a blanket he has but hesitates before settling it over him, “Are you cold?” 

Jaskier’s brow scrunches, mostly asleep or just too tired to open his eyes he mumbles, “Always cold.” Geralt can’t stop himself from thinking, _Because there’s nothing left to you_ , hating it’s the truth. Geralt settles his Witcher jacket around Jaskier, the lettering across the back making it stiff but Jaskier’s cold fingers brush his as he pulls it closer, humming his pleasedness. 

Geralt returns to his desk, unsure if it will be more awkward for Jaskier to wake and find him there or the office empty, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave him alone and so he stays. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember last chapter when it was funny how I mentioned a snail's pace for this fic. Not so funny now that this isn't the pumpkin patch chapter is it?  
> In all honesty, I forgot that this chapter went between the two. I swear, looked ahead and everything, the next chapter IS pumpkin patch.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t blame everything on tradition.” Jaskier counters. Geralt laughs and Jaskier thinks that’s the best answer of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the most wonderful readers!  
> I can't thank you all enough, not only for reading but sharing your thoughts. They brighten my week.  
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this fic! 
> 
> And now, to the Pumpkin Patch!

Jaskier wills himself back to sleep but he’s to meet Geralt and Ciri in a few hours to head to the pumpkin patch, excitement thrumming through him even though he crawled into bed barely five hours before. He tries to distract himself reading through the bits of lyrics he’d written on his phone, but that serves only to wake him up more and send him scrambling from bed for his latest notebook and a pen. 

Jaskier eyes his cabinet where the peanut butter and apples wait, he knows he should eat, but he’s been looking forward to this day since Geralt invited him and the last thing he wants is to ruin it with the stomach pain he knows peanut butter apples will bring. 

Jaskier paces into the living room and back again, eyeing the cabinet, he shouldn’t eat _nothing_ , he knows Geralt wouldn’t be happy if he found out and they’re having dinner that night at White Wolf so he just needs something to make it until then.

Resolutely, Jaskier grabs a spoon and the jar of peanut butter, carefully scooping out enough for a few good licks, he replaces the jar and resumes his pacing, licking curls of peanut butter until all he tastes is spoon.

o~O~o

Geralt had his reservations about bringing Jaskier to the pumpkin patch with them still, the events of Wednesday too fresh in his mind for comfort, but Ciri was so excited and he feared what rescinding the invite would do to Jaskier. 

As Geralt pulls into the White Wolf’s parking lot Jaskier steps from his car, Ciri’s cry of, “Julian”, only reaching Geralt as the windows are rolled up. Geralt uses the time it takes Jaskier to walk to the truck to study him, gauge if he needs to be worried about today, but Jaskier seems fine if a little nervous. 

“Good morning.” Jaskier greets as he pulls himself up into the cab, turning in his seat to greet Ciri again when she crows his name. The ride there is filled mainly with Ciri’s chatter, breaths hardly able to edge around her excitement as she tells Jaskier all the fun things they’re going to do.

“Ciri, Jaskier may not want to do all those things.” Geralt tries to temper, hoping Jaskier doesn’t feel overwhelmed by the busy day ahead but Jaskier seems to take it in stride.

“I’ve never been in a haystack maze before.” Jaskier’s admission decides it for Ciri, if nothing else pumpkin picking, haystack mazes and of _course_ they have to do face painting. Geralt laughs softly when Jaskier catches his eyes and mouths, ‘Of course’ like face painting should never be questioned. 

It’s early enough in October the farm isn’t packed, though there are quite a few families that had the same idea as them, come early in the month and early in the day. Ciri bounds from the truck and latches onto Jaskier’s hand who’s surprised to suddenly find his hand pressed with small warm fingers.

“Your hands are cold.” Ciri frowns at Jaskier’s hands, trying first one, then the other as though she expects a difference.

“Sorry.” Jaskier tries to pull away but Ciri isn’t having it, instead she turns to Geralt as he comes around the truck, unsurprised to find Ciri holding Jaskier’s hand. 

“Pama, his hands are cold. You need to put them unner your arms and warm them.”

“Under, Ciri.” Geralt automatically corrects before he finishes processing the rest of the sentence. 

“When my hands get cold mommy tucks them under her arms to warm them.” Ciri tells Jaskier with such seriousness Jaskier can’t help his grin. Geralt holds still as though the slightest movement would draw attention but it doesn’t matter as Jaskier turns to him, clearly amused. 

“That’s very nice of her, but we can't walk like that, can we?” Ciri thinks this over before shaking her head, white-blonde hair swishing behind her. Satisfied, Ciri keeps hold of Jaskier’s hand as she holds out her other for Geralt, bracketing her before they start up the gravel parking lot and into the farm.

“So maze or face painting first?” Jaskier asks, eyeing the signpost ahead pointing opposite directions based on what they were intending to do. 

“ _Pumpkins_.” Ciri says in the same tone she not long ago reserved for face painting. 

“Of course, how could I forget?” Jaskier says. Ciri looks up at Geralt and just shakes her head before heading off to the field of pumpkins. 

“You get the best pumpkins if you come early.” Geralt offers and it takes Jaskier a moment to realize he’s referring to Ciri’s adamance about pumpkins first.

“I didn’t know pumpkin picking was such a contested sport.” Jaskier jokes. Ciri is barely restraining herself by the time they reach the fenced area leading to the pumpkins, tables holding the smaller ones and baskets of gourds are set up like a farmer’s market in the front while the field stretches behind them, pumpkins clustered based on their sizes and colors.

Ciri peers up at Geralt, “Can I go? Please?” She’s bouncing where she stands, her eyes darting from the field to Geralt and back again.

“Yes, but stay close.” Ciri is off before Geralt has finished but she holds to his words, going no further than either of them could reach in a few bounding steps. She prowls from one pile to the next, using some judgement only she understands as she eyes each mountain of pumpkins, her eyes sliding back to them before she strays to a further pile. 

Along the way Geralt claims one of the low metal carts, little more than a piece of grating on durable wheels with a handle but it follows behind them easily and Jaskier quickly sees the benefit when Geralt starts loading the pumpkins Ciri’s selected.

Jaskier is watching Ciri who has wandered closer to the front, seeming to have filled her pumpkin quota, she’s looking through the colorful gourds and miniature pumpkins. 

“You need to pick one too.” Geralt’s words draw Jaskier’s gaze as he watches Geralt select a decent sized white pumpkin, arm muscles tightening as he lifts it from the ground and Jaskier has to turn away as he feels his cheeks burn. 

“Oh?” Jaskier winces when it comes out strangled.

“It’s tradition, we’ll carve them and light them for the festival.” Geralt explains, straightening he scans for Ciri but it’s easy to follow Jaskier’s gaze and find her pale head at the table. Geralt dusts his hands off on his black jeans, leaving dusty streaks behind that he only makes worse when he tries to brush them off, earning a small laugh from Jaskier. 

In truth, Jaskier thought Geralt looked good, dirt and all. He was wearing another of his fitting black t-shirts, showing through the undone buttons of his long sleeved Henley, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and his hair tied back in that half pony Jaskier liked. You’d never guess he was a biker if it weren’t for the heavy black boots that seemed to be a prerequisite to own a motorcycle.

Jaskier knows he’s stared too long and quickly turns, scanning the field for a pumpkin that calls to him, wishing Ciri was closer so he might ask what her technique is. Trusting Geralt has an eye on Ciri, Jaskier wanders through the various styles of pumpkins until one catches his eye and he wonders if this is Ciri’s technique.

It’s orange but has a dusting of white to it’s ridges are deep and it’s shorter than your traditional carving pumpkin but Jaskier is taken with it. It takes him two tries to lift his pumpkin from the ground and Jaskier is grateful Geralt was looking towards Ciri. 

Geralt does catch him staggering back, his arms quivering but Jaskier knows once he puts it down he’s no hope of picking it up again. Geralt tries to hide his concern when he sees Jaskier struggling towards him but he looks ready to drop it and quickly moves to him.

“I’m surprised Ciri didn’t pick this one.” Geralt says, hoping to cover the obvious need for help as he takes it from Jaskier, adding it to their cart. 

“She seems to be going more for the carving angle.” Jaskier notes, trying to smooth out his breathing without Geralt noticing.

They make their way to Ciri who is standing before a line of gourds and miniature pumpkins, studying them with fierce concentration. “Find some good ones?” Geralt asks as Ciri starts tucking them in where she can on the cart. 

“Yup. For the centerpedes.” Jaskier’s head tilts to the side as he tries to work out what Ciri is talking about. 

“Center _pieces_.” Geralt corrects and Ciri nods though they both doubt she marked the difference. It’s easy enough to return to where they entered and pay for their pumpkin haul, Geralt smoothly evading Jaskier’s attempt to pay for his own much to Jaskier’s embarrassment. 

“I can afford to buy my own pumpkin.” Jaskier presses, doing his best to help Geralt load them into the back of the truck, Ciri happily sitting on the corner of the tailgate, keeping the bag of mini pumpkins and gourds safe.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can, Jaskier. It’s tradition, Ciri picks out everyone’s pumpkin and I buy them.” Geralt explains, pausing to catch Jaskier’s gaze, pumpkin in his hands. Jaskier tries to ignore how effortlessly he holds it while his own arms threaten to fail with each one he picks up. 

“You can’t blame everything on tradition.” Jaskier counters. Geralt laughs and Jaskier thinks that’s the best answer of all. 

The pumpkins having been loaded and bag stashed in the cab, Ciri informs them it’s time for face painting. The stand has a line of kids but there are two teenagers working it who are not only quick but seem quite skilled with a brush if the painted faces passing are any indication. 

“Come here Ciri, we need to tie your hair back.” Geralt sits on one of the hay bales lined up every so often in lieu of benches. Ciri obediently stands with her back to Geralt as he deftly sections her hair into three plaits and braids them, Jaskier trying not to gawk.

Pulling a small, lime green hair tie from his pocket, Geralt secures the end of her hair and with a slight tug on the tail of it she spins, her yellow dress flaring around her but the black and white striped leggings underneath keep her modest. She reaches blindly for Geralt and Jaskier’s hands, knowing they’ll meet them in the air and they do, joining the line to have her face painted. 

“Know what you’re going to get?” Jaskier asks as Ciri rocks back and forth from heel to toe. 

“You make such a lovely family.” The grandmother in front of them comments, looking between the three of them. Jaskier’s eyebrows meet his hairline as he looks to Geralt who politely thanks her. Ciri is still running through possible ideas but Jaskier registers none of them as his mind turns over the woman’s comment and Geralt’s easy acceptance. 

It’s soon Ciri’s turn and Geralt and Jaskier are left standing to the side, watching in amazement as the teenager deftly paints a butterfly across Ciri’s cheeks, the bride of her nose acting as its body, white to temper the soft pinks and oranges that are the wings with accents of white mirrored on either cheek. 

Ciri is so pleased with the result she insists on sending a picture to Yennefer even though they’ll see her in a few hours. No sooner has the picture been taken than Ciri is on to their next adventure, not abiding any lulls in the trip. “Maze?” 

The maze would be easy to find even without the signposts, the bales of hay stacked tall enough even Geralt can’t see over them; Ciri’s antsy to get there, her faster pace inhibited by Jaskier and Geralt tethering her hands. There’s a chalkboard sign out front listing the rules and a guy dressed as a scarecrow reminding contenders if they get too lost, ask one of his scarecrow friends within and they’ll show the way out.

“We won’t get lost! Pama _never_ gets lost.” Ciri declares proudly. 

The maze is about what Jaskier expected from its name, the only thing he didn’t expect was how long it would take them to get through it. Ciri insisted on trying every path they encountered which often led them to passing the same scarecrow helper multiple times as they looped back on themselves. 

Jaskier had no idea how long they’d been in there, Ciri’s hand slipping from his at some point as his pace slowed, Geralt glancing to him but the smile he offered was convincing enough as Geralt let Ciri pull him around another turn. Jaskier shoves his sleeves up, a flush washing over him that’s all too familiar and he wills it away, taking a moment he crouches against a haystack, eyes closing as he takes deep, focused breaths. 

“Julian?” At the tinge of fear in Ciri’s voice Jaskier’s eyes snap open, thinking she’d gotten separated from Geralt but he’s there just behind her, concerned as he stares down at Jaskier. 

“I knew you would find me.” Jaskier tries to play it off but his words come out breathy and having nothing to drag himself up with his rising is more unsteady than he likes. While Ciri may believe his ploy, it’s clear from the way Geralt looks him over he’s not buying a word of it. 

“I’m sorry I lost you. Pama never loses me, he won’t lose you either, right?” Ciri looks up at Geralt, expectantly and Geralt is forced to tear his scrutinizing gaze from Jaskier to look at her, looking pained as he says, “Never by choice, little love.” 

Geralt offers his hand and Jaskier hates that this is how it happens, he’d never thought about holding Geralt’s hand before but now faced with it he doesn’t want it to be forced, but he has no choice as Ciri refuses to budge until she’s certain he won’t get left behind. 

Geralt’s hand is warm and rough against Jaskier’s, his thumb moving absently over his knuckles and Jaskier tries to convince himself Geralt is trying to keep his own hand warm, that it’s nothing more. Geralt discourages Ciri from trying every path, nudging her in the direction of the exit as Jaskier’s steps become slower.

“Jaskier?” Jaskier blinks away the black eating at his vision, his heart feeling too fast as his body flushes with heat once more, he’s sure Geralt can feel the clamminess of his hand and wonders why he hasn’t pulled away yet...nope there he goes. 

Geralt’s hand pulls from Jaskier only to settle about his waist, growling softly as he struggles to get a grasp on Jaskier through all the fabric, finally realizing he’s wearing two undershirts under his long sleeves. Geralt can’t find Jaskier through his shirts and doubled-up jeans but he finally gets an arm around him enough to pull him into his side. 

“Is Julian ok?” Ciri asks. Geralt doesn’t want to let go of her hand but he knows he may have to if Jaskier goes down like that night he did in the White Wolf, his breath catching as he thinks this time might involve an ambulance. 

“I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy for a minute.” Jaskier’s smile is weak and his eyes are unfocused as he tries to reassure her. Geralt keeps a steadying arm around Jaskier until the flush fades from his cheeks and his eyes seem to be seeing what’s around him.

“Sorry.” Jaskier says again, or maybe it’s the first time he’s said it out loud and not just in his head, he’s not so sure anymore.

“Is ok.” Ciri says. Geralt keeps a steadying arm around Jaskier, keeping their pace nice and slow and the next scarecrow helper they come to Ciri asks for directions on how to get out and Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more.

They were close, even if she had tried the remaining paths it wouldn’t have taken longer than ten minutes but Geralt wasn’t sure Jaskier had all of those ten minutes to spare. 

The maze exit is more lively than the entrance, a hay bale ride awaits those who want a quick way back to the beginning and there’s a few stalls set up with various homemade goods, picnic tables arranged before them for seating.

Geralt keeps the hand holding Ciri's ahead of them, the illusion that he's leading her to one of the benches and leaving her under Jaskier's care rather than the other way around. Jaskier pulls out of Geralt's embrace, taking the last few steps on his own he drops onto the bench. 

Jaskier offers Geralt a smile but it seems his ability to seat himself doesn't make up for blacking out in the maze and with a murmured instruction to Ciri about not wandering off he heads for the food stalls. 

“I’m sorry for ruining the maze, Ciri.” Jaskier says, tearing his eyes from Geralt's back to look at Ciri. 

“You didn’t ruin it. And ‘sides, I’m an ornery Witcher and we help people. I helped you get out.” Ciri beams at him as she tugs on the little leather jacket she’s wearing over her yellow dress and Jaskier can’t help but smile. 

“You’ll make a great Witcher, Ciri.” Jaskier tells her honestly. Geralt returns carrying a tray and Jaskier’s stomach twists, not only at the thought of eating but also that Geralt was surely frustrated with him. Why couldn’t he just eat? None of this would have happened.

Ciri scrambles onto the bench next to Jaskier as Geralt sets a plate with a corndog on it and a clearly homemade, plain biscuit before Jaskier. Ciri uses two hands to pick up her cup, humming her pleasure at the cider within before she happily bites into her corndog. 

Jaskier works at cutting his biscuit open with a plastic knife as Geralt does the same with his own. Geralt nudges a small container towards him, “Apple butter.” Jaskier spreads some on his biscuit, Ciri oblivious to the tension between them as she chatters happily about what she thinks everyone will carve on their pumpkin.

Jaskier manages half of his biscuit before his stomach protests, though he’s not sure if it’s from the food or his anxiety. He feels better after eating, the cider sharp on his tongue but Geralt is watching and the walk back to the truck will be long and the last thing he wants is to ruin this day any further. 

Geralt gathers the trash and dumps it, Ciri begging to take the hayride back and Geralt gives Jaskier a measured look before agreeing. The ride is bumpy and filled with families but Jaskier hardly notices any of it as he scrambles to think of how he can make this up to Geralt. 

Geralt is off the back of the trailer first, offering a hand to Jaskier before he swings Ciri down who giggles, quickly taking up both their hands once more as they start back to the parking lot. 

Jaskier doesn’t miss the clench to Geralt’s jaw on the way home, the agitation pouring off of him and Jaskier can’t blame him as the cold realization washes over him at how dangerous it could have been if Geralt wasn’t there. If Geralt had trusted him with Ciri and...Jaskier’s stomach churns with fear of what could have happened. 

He would be better, starting tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember two chapters ago when you wanted the Pumpkin Patch chapter and then last chapter when you *really* wanted the Pumpkin Patch and you thought there was gonna be fluff.  
> I tried, I really did, but my fluff comes with casual heartbreaking observances sprinkled in.  
> Does it make it better if I say there's a part 2?


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt pauses over his next words, he doesn’t want to replace Marx, doesn’t want to tell Jaskier what to do and have him blindly follow, but he also fears what will happen if Jaskier keeps going as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't express how much I appreciate and cherish all you readers. Your kudos and comments and just reading this has gotten me through the week.  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this monster for me.

Ciri is still thrumming with excitement when Jaskier walks back into the White Wolf hours later, having parted with several hours stretched between them and dinner Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t messed things up at the pumpkin patch if Geralt would have invited him to stay, to pass the hours together.

“I think I might paint my pumpkin instead of carving it, there’s some really neat ideas out there.” Triss comments, smiling at Jaskier as he walks up to the bar. 

“That’s just because you can’t carve even a basic jack-o-lantern face.” Eskel teases, earning an affronted noise from Triss while everyone else laughs. It would be easy enough for Triss to bite back about being all too familiar with knives himself, but they’re family and they don’t poke at each other’s wounds, obvious or otherwise. 

“What about you? Going for the classic look or something else?” The silence alerts Jaskier the question is to him and he looks up from where he’s trying to rearrange the tables with little success.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes deep as Eskel crosses to finish the tables, eyeing him with concern as he easily shifts the table into place. “I guess I’ll carve it, kind of like the color of it so don’t think I want to paint it.” Jaskier shrugs, tucking the chairs under. 

“Tacos!” Ciri announces as they settle in their seats.

“Enchiladas.” Yennefer corrects and Ciri scrunches up her nose, eyeing the casserole dish of flour tortillas covered in red sauce and cheese.

“They're kind of like tacos. Besides, Geralt made ‘em.” Triss offers as she adds a small pile of rice to Jaskier’s plate, Eskel follows with a scoop of Mexican black beans. Ciri eyes her plate suspiciously but one lick of the red sauce and she’s tearing into her enchilada with her fork. Jaskier eyes his own plate, a single enchilada, rice and beans, he could do this, he wouldn’t pass out again. 

“Are we having the festival here again? Thought it was a little crowded last year and I’m sure it will be even more popular this year.” Yennefer asks.

“We can always see if they’ll let us use the park, the parking lot there is fairly sizable, though it might be booked already with how soon it is.” Eskel reasons.

“I doubt it will fit here, the park is probably booked already, we can see if Vesemir will let us use the school parking lot.” Geralt says. 

“You’re coming to the festival, right?” Ciri asks, looking expectantly at Jaskier who tries to ignore the growing ache in his stomach. 

“It sure sounds like fun.” Jaskier tries. This isn’t the first he’s heard of the festival, it’s just the first that it’s been mentioned in anything more than passing.

“You haven’t talked to him about it?” Yennefer sighs at Geralt, answering her own question with, “Of course you haven’t.” Geralt shrugs and looks to Jaskier, but he ducks his head and takes another bite, unable to meet Geralt’s eyes just yet.

“Each year around Halloween the Witchers have a festival for the families they’ve helped.” Yennefer says by way of explanation.

“It’s nothing big.” Geralt says, trying to reign in her description. 

“Not _big_ in the sense of the pumpkin patch but the kids come and we do a cookout and they get to trunk or treat–”

“Cept there’s no trunks.” Lambert cuts in.

“Not traditional trunks, no.” Yennefer allows, “Point _is_ , the families like it and it gives them a chance to have Halloween and feel safe.” Yennefer finishes. 

“You should come.” Geralt tells Jaskier, “If you want.” Eskel huffs a laugh next to Geralt which is cut off with a muffled thump as Triss' boot connects with his shin.

“Sounds fun.” Jaskier bites out, the pain in his stomach making his breaths sharp. He’s gotten most of the enchilada down but it sits heavy inside him, the rice going easier but there’s just so much of it and he’s barely touched the beans. 

Jaskier barely hears what topic they move onto next, reminding himself _I can do this. IcandothisIcandothis._

_I can_

  
  
  
  
  


_‘t do this._

Jaskier shoves up from his chair, sending it screeching behind him as he bolts down the hall, gritting his teeth and begging for just one more step as he shoulder checks the bathroom door and crashes to his knees before the trash can. 

It’s a bittersweet pain as his stomach empties itself, the hardwon progress lost. His head pounding in time with the clench of his stomach, the smell of his own sick making his mouth water. 

He senses more than sees someone kneel next to him, a joke about Yennefer making this a habit coming to mind but when he opens his mouth only sick falls from it. Jaskier keeps his eyes closed, willing his mind to take him anywhere but back to that place, of dinners remet over the toilet, the accompanying pounding of his head to stop and the cramping in his stomach to abate. 

Jaskier starts when a cold paper towel is pressed to his neck, he’s not sure if it’s the coolness against his heated skin or the gesture but either way it’s comforting. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier murmurs, when a distinctly _not_ Yennefer sounding, “ _Mmm_ ” answers Jaskier’s head jerks up, his headache momentarily blinding let slip a whimper. Geralt crouches beside him, concerned hands hovering but not touching.

“Sorry.” Jaskier’s head is throbbing and his stomach threatens even though it's empty but his words only seem to anger Geralt more. 

“Dammit Jaskier.” Geralt snaps, steadying him when he sways. 

“I _know_ , I know I fucked up. I could’ve hurt Ciri. I just...I want to be better and I’m trying but it hurts and–” Jaskier can’t get enough air, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe but it’s hard with the pain in his stomach stealing his breaths. 

“ _Jaskier,”_ Geralt waits until Jaskier’s breaths even out and his mind is behind his eyes once more, “Ciri’s fine, you would never let anything happen to her.” Jaskier nods, his faith reassuring though he’s not sure it’s deserved. 

Geralt pauses over his next words, he doesn’t want to replace Marx, doesn’t want to tell Jaskier what to do and have him blindly follow, but he also fears what will happen if Jaskier keeps going as he is.

“You can’t keep this up Jaskier, pushing yourself with three jobs. I know you want to get better but it will take more than a week and you have to give yourself a break.” Jaskier is absolutely dejected by Geralt’s answer, his stomach twisting with a different, but still all too familiar, pain of disappointment. 

“I know you’re trying Jask, I’m _grateful_ you’re trying and I’ll help you any way I can, but you need to be gentle with yourself.” The tension that had been strung between them since the maze shifts and Jaskier thinks maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t from anger but concern. Concern for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it better and I swear the recovery tag isn't a lie (I'm starting to sound like Portal and the cake). 
> 
> Slight change in the update plans dear readers. Second work started back up which means this will be update late Tuesday nights after I get off both (if there are errors this is why and I apologize in advance) instead of closer to midnight. 
> 
> And then of course Friday's midnight into Saturday (Unless I'm burnt and you'll get it late Friday night as well). 
> 
> To wrap up the author's note that never ends: Thank you all so much for your unending support in this story. Your reads and comments get me through and I can't thank you all enough!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was trying but he wasn't being gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've survived the week! And as a reward (I hope it can be considered one at least) you get a new chapter!  
> Thank you so, so much for all your comments. I can't express how much I love reading your reactions to this story.  
> Also, a major thank you to VeritasRose who edits this monster for me.

Jaskier comes to as many different answers as he thinks of ways of asking. Geralt's words having stolen into his mind, waiting for him each time he opens his cabinet or his stomach growls.

He _needs_ food and he needs to _want_ food.

He's not sure which thought scares him more.

Jaskier finds himself driving to the White Wolf instead of his intended destination of the grocery store, anxiety driving his movements. He's parked and out of his car before his mind catches up that this isn't where he needs to be, even if it's where he'd rather be, but even with that thought he can't bring himself to climb back in his car.

He was trying but he wasn't being gentle.

Yennefer is wiping down the counter when Jaskier walks in, his shoulders hunching under her concerned gaze as he remembers the last time he showed up unannounced on a weekday. He wants to reassure her he’s fine, tell her he knows what day it is and that he’s actually there for help but that would mean he’s fully decided on asking Geralt and that thought slows his steps as he thinks how easy it would be to turn around and walk back to his car. 

“Jaskier.” Yennefer greets, head tilting as she studies him as though she could see into his mind and the thoughts there, whether he’s in his right mind or not. 

“Hey, Yenn.” It stops them both, Geralt having only ever been the one to call her that and here it sounded off his tongue so easy, but her smile softens and he thinks maybe this was the best possible reassurance. She doesn’t try to keep him with talk, almost as if she knows why he’s there without him having to say it. 

Jaskier knows how many steps to Geralt’s office from the start of the hallway, is certain he could walk them in his sleep but today he wishes he didn’t, that his mind didn’t know exactly how close he was getting. 

But he was trying and he needed Geralt to show him how to be gentle. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s not at his desk, instead he’s on the floor surrounded by uncracked glow sticks and black drawstring bags with the spidery Witcher lettering across them, the sight is so unexpected Jaskier blurts, “I need you to be gentle.” 

Geralt’s eyebrows raise into his hairline as he blushes but in carefully measured words says, “Always, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier drops into his place on the couch, knees coming up to his chest as he watches the color fade from Geralt’s cheeks, knowing what he says next will chase any musings his words had implied. 

“You said you would help.” Jaskier starts, the actual asking bit feeling too awkward and needy, though he knows it’s not like _not_ saying it will make him any less for all that he’s already required. 

“Whatever you need.” Geralt confirms and though the silence sits between them and Geralt’s gaze never wavers from him, Jaskier doesn’t feel the weight of Geralt’s focus on him, instead it’s as though he would wait until the very building crumbled around them if it’s what he needed.

“I need food. Apartment food.” Jaskier clarifies. Geralt nods and Jaskier appreciates he takes his time thinking over Jaskier’s request before responding, though in truth Geralt did still fear his kitchen was as bare as the disaster of a housewarming party had shown them to be. 

Geralt doesn’t know how to ask for the clarification he needs, if this was money or moral support, though he imagines it’s the latter as Jaskier had taken on an entire other job rather than admit he needed help for a car he didn’t expect to be given. 

“Something...easy on your system?” Geralt guesses. 

Jaskier turns the words over and Geralt has the urge to retrieve his jacket and drape it about him, certain that he’s cold but he’s also become so used to the sight of Jaskier wrapped in it he almost looks wrong sitting there without. 

“Yes. I,” Jaskier starts, thinking whether he should admit this particular shame but he needs Geralt’s help and he’s not sure he’ll get it without. “Valdo managed what I got. I don’t…” Jaskier shrugs uncomfortably, unsure how to put into words the horrible thoughts he had when stocking, how many things looked good but had been ingrained he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t want. 

Geralt’s jaw clenches and he wishes, not for the first time, that Marx were cocky enough to show his face again, to mouth off to the right person and Destiny grant Geralt the favor of being present. 

“It’s ok. When would you like to go?” Geralt offers.  
“Um...to...Sunday?” Jaskier trips over the words as he scrambles to think of the next time he even has half a day off. Sunday would work if Geralt didn’t mind making it quick between the time he got off at the grocery store and before dinner started. 

It’s not hard for Geralt to figure out Jaskier had shown up now with the intent of doing it immediately, before the will left him again and there’s no telling how long it would take him to build it back up, if he even could.

“Would now be ok?” Jaskier’s shoulders drop in relief, having inched up towards his ears during the conversation. 

“You’re not...busy?” Jaskier eyes the hundreds of glow sticks and open box of bags.

“It will keep.” Geralt shrugs, gathering the bags before him and dropping them into a box before scooping the glow sticks back into their own bag. Geralt rises and moves to his office chair, grabbing the coat from its back he slips it on and turns back to Jaskier who still hasn’t moved, only watches him with wide eyes.

“Right.” Jaskier nods as though he’s mentally preparing himself for what’s ahead. Unfolding from the couch he precedes Geralt out the door, heading back towards the front out of habit, before he can think maybe Geralt intended to drive himself. Yennefer raises an eyebrow when Geralt appears behind Jaskier, looking ready to leave but doesn’t question.

“We’re going shopping.” Geralt informs her, a conversation passing between them Jaskier doesn’t understand. 

“Please tell me it’s for a coat and some shoes that don’t have holes in them.” Jaskier ducks his head, he really didn’t have money to spare on those things, not since he seriously started considering quitting the Just Around the Corner, but admitting that wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as having them offer to pay.

“Maybe next time.” Geralt slowly suggests, neither missing Jaskier’s embarrassment. Counting that as a good enough goodbye Jaskier heads for the door, Geralt’s booted steps behind him confirming he’s following. Jamming his hand into his pocket Jaskier digs out his keys, clutching them giving him a misplaced sense of reassurance.

Jaskier makes it to his car before he realizes he’d never asked Geralt if he was riding with him just assumed, but now they’re at it and it seems too late to ask so Jaskier just slides into the driver’s seat and Geralt mirrors his action on the passenger side. 

“Having a rave night at White Wolf?” Jaskier asks as he drives, fearing the silence left unattended will turn awkward.

“No?” 

“The ah...glow sticks?” Jaskier tries, fairly certain no one person needs _that_ many for personal use. Geralt’s laugh fills the small car.

“They’re for the festival, we put them in the bags and give them to kids to use as trick-or-treat bags.” Geralt explains and Jaskier fights his smile as he realizes how much more sense that makes. “Would you like the White Wolf to have a rave night?” Geralt asks, a twist to his lips that makes Jaskier wonder.

“As much as the idea of seeing that bar full of bikers wreathed in glow sticks and body paint I think not.” Jaskier teases back. 

Geralt doesn’t press when Jaskier parks the car but makes no move to get out, giving him all the time he needs to steel himself against the task ahead. Jaskier’s fingers drum softly against the door as his shaking hand misses the handle.

“Jaskier.” Geralt gently says, drawing his attention. “Say the word and we leave. Groceries or not.” Having the expectations removed helps calm Jaskier, he doesn’t want to waste Geralt’s time and knows he would never be able to bring himself to ask again, but Geralt’s never lied to him and never set standards for him to meet. 

Jaskier clutches the cart with a grip that whitens his knuckles but Geralt doesn’t comment, just lets him steer them through the automatic doors and into the store beyond but he stalls for where to start. 

“Yogurt and some fruit seems to settle well with you.” Geralt offers, thinking back to what Jaskier’s been eating that hasn’t seemed to cause him pain. As though it were a command, Jaskier swiftly turns to the produce section when Geralt calling his name slows him and he finds Geralt hasn’t moved.

With pained golden eyes Geralt moves to Jaskier and says as gently as he can, “You don’t have to get those, what would _you_ like?” 

“Oh.” Jaskier looks around the store, lost for a moment, turning over Geralt’s words before he admits, “I used to like yogurt.” Geralt has a feeling what he means is he used to eat yogurt and his suspicions are confirmed when Jaskier tries to select the container proclaiming the lowest calorie content. 

“Do you like that flavor?” Jaskier pulls his hand back at Geralt’s question, he hadn’t even noted what flavor it was and looking now he sees that it’s plain, not even vanilla. 

“No.” Jaskier’s eyes dart to Geralt to gauge his reaction but Geralt is just scanning the colorful containers. Jaskier looks over the various flavors, picking out three fruits he likes and adds the cups to the cart.

“Vanilla makes a good base to add fruit to.” Geralt offers, indicating a large tub that makes Jaskier quiver at just how long it would last him but Geralt wouldn’t suggest it if it weren’t a good idea. Jaskier adds it to the cart, fingers itching to replace the three flavored ones but he curls them around the handle instead. 

“Ciri loves these.” Geralt indicates a few that are flavored after various desserts and cookies and Jaskier’s lips twitch, that is very much how Ciri would eat her yogurt. And maybe he could too. 

Jaskier plucks the strawberry cheesecake one and adds it to the cart, starring after it for a long moment before leaving it there. 

The fresh fruit and vegetables are easier, Jaskier knows what of these he likes and adds them to his basket in quantities that make Geralt cringe but he reasons there will be other food. Jaskier's anxiety increases as they move through the store, a box of vegetable pasta, a small container of butter and some basic spices. With a promise of an incredibly easy recipe Jaskier braved a few chicken breasts and some bone broth to make soup. 

Jaskier’s agitation grew with each item added to the cart, what started with a concern over the cost, he knew he had the money since Lambert refused any more payments for the car, was quickly overtaken by the sheer amount of food he was expected to live with. 

“This is enough.” Jaskier’s voice quakes and he hates admitting it but he honestly doesn’t think he’ll make it through many more aisles, too many choices of things he wants but shouldn’t, that he probably can’t even handle with his stomach cramping at even the simplest of fare.

“No more food. Would you be ok getting something to drink?” Geralt feared Jaskier wasn’t one of those people who just drank water for the love of water, the way he glutted himself on it before meals making him think otherwise. 

Jaskier hesitates but bargains with himself he can handle _one_ thing and with a slow nod he heads for the drink aisle. Jaskier knows most of the juices here are mostly just sugar, but Geralt suggests a brand that is actually more juice and less additive and Jaskier picks out a white-grape blend that piques his interest. 

Jaskier expects a fight when they get to the checkout, it wouldn’t be much of one with how tired he is but Geralt just calmly loads the conveyor belt, staying far from the cashier. Jaskier forces his expression to a careful blankness when the total flashes on the screen, he’s spending the same amount of money on groceries in one trip that he does all month, but he knows the money is there and as he eyes the bags he reasons they’ll last the whole month. 

o~O~o

Jaskier is surprised when Geralt offers to help unload the groceries, there’s not much but the thought of Geralt _wanting_ to spend more time with him, not treating him like a chore, warms Jaskier.

Betty is tending the mums Jaskier helped her pot and line the walk with when they arrive and she smiles up at them as they pass, arms laden with bags. “I need to shop wherever you do, seems it comes with a strapping young man to carry my groceries for me.” Geralt blushes and Jaskier thinks it may be the greatest thing he’s ever seen, his laugh and wide grin only making Geralt’s cheeks burn brighter.

“If you ever need help I’m just across the hall.” Jaskier offers once he’s collected himself some.

“Oh, I know dear, I just hate to be a bother.” With a promise that she’s never a bother Jaskier continues up the walk, his arms protesting the weight of the bags. 

Jaskier sets his bags on the table, Geralt follows suit and together they fill the table with groceries, combining the bags into one sack to be returned. The cold stuff is easiest as it’s the most obvious and Geralt feels only slightly better that not only the drawers have something in them. 

The problem comes when Jaskier has to put the rest of the groceries in the cabinets, no longer filing just half a shelf, the possibilities unnerve him. 

“It’s not all for one day, just eat a little of whatever sounds good when you’re hungry?” Geralt offers and Jaskier nods but quickly works to move half the contents to the neighboring cabinet before closing both sets of doors. 

o~O~o

“How’d it go?” Yennefer asks when Geralt strides back into the White Wolf but he barely acknowledges her as he passes, intent on making it to his office. Exchanging concerned looks, Eskel and Yennefer follow, finding Geralt at his desk, coat still on as he scrawls across the back of a piece of paper

_Brown rice_

_Peanut butter-creamy_

_Bananas_

_Broccoli_

_Carrots_

_Blueberries_

_Yogurt-vanilla, blueberry, strawberry banana, mixed berry, strawberry cheesecake, cookies and cream?_

_Apple sauce_

_White-grape juice_

_Fig bars_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I belatedly realized I drew a parallel between cake and eating disorder recovery in the last author's note. Sometimes I worry about me.
> 
> And now a mundane chapter about grocery shopping when you thought you were gonna get festival goodness. What have I led you all into?


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer looks to Jaskier who is admiring Ciri’s latest bracelet creation before dividing a flat look between the three of them; best case he’s uncomfortable, worst case a couple shots and he’s hospitalized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must start by apologizing. I realized this many chapters in I seemed to have severely mistagged. I'm starting to think slow burn doesn't quite encapsulate the eventual Geraskier. So what about glacial burn? Those move about as fast as these two. Right?  
> Seriously though. I can't thank you all enough for still reading. It means so much to me you spend a bit of your time here and to those who spend a bit more commenting, I adore each one.  
> As always, a huge thank you to my good friend and beta reader VeritasRose.

“What would you like on break?” Geralt asks, leaning in the doorway of the office where Jaskier is tuning his guitar. He used to do it out on stage, it didn’t take long and no one really seemed to care if he ran up and down the bars a few times, but as he acquired more groupies, as Triss dubbed them, it proved more difficult to tune and not be overwhelmed with questions. 

Jaskier’s fingers slip from the chords at Geralt’s question as he struggles to answer. “I’m not...I mean I _will..._ but when I get home.” Geralt steps into the office, concerned as he eyes Jaskier who suddenly needs all his concentration to tune his guitar that he’s been playing for most of his life.

“We have fruit or rice…” Geralt offers, thinking Jaskier thought he was offering something along the lines of heavier fare and a reenactment of Sunday’s dinner but the suggestion makes Jaskier blanche. 

"I try but...it hurts.” The admittance is soft, tangling in the strings of his guitar. If Jaskier had been looking he would have seen Geralt’s face fall, disappointed at himself for Jaskier hurting once more at his hands.

“We’ll figure something out, something that doesn’t make you sick.” Geralt promises, hoping he can keep it and knowing he has limited time to figure out how he will.

o~O~o

Jaskier tells himself there’s a perfectly good reason why Geralt isn’t in his usual leaning place when he glances over, that he probably had work to do in his bar and not watch Jaskier for the upteenth night. No matter how many times he tells himself his eyes keep searching the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of familiar white hair glowing in the dim lights. 

Yennefer is glaring at him and Jaskier has a distinct feeling he can’t stretch playing out any longer without a break or she’ll send one of the guys up to retrieve him. With Geralt still mysteriously absent Jaskier excuses himself and slips from the stage, the way to the bar hindered by people wanting to know his social media handles and where they can stream his music. 

Finally making it to his seat, Jaskier finds it doesn’t feel as comfortable as it normally does without Geralt next to him, to shield him from the bar and make him feel secure. He smiles tightly at Yennefer, trying not to look too expectant as he waits for her to place his unwanted meal before him as she’d done for months now. 

“Thought you were trying to skip out on me tonight.” Yennefer tells him with a cool gaze and Jaskier doesn’t know how to tell her he’s come to rely on these few minutes of quiet security afforded him by this corner and Geralt’s scowl. 

“Nope, just in the moment.” Jaskier tries, resigning himself to choking down as many bites as he can handle of whatever she sets before him and hoping he can make it through a decent portion of the night before he gives into the pain he knows awaits him. 

Yennefer eyes him with a look Jaskier imagines she’s perfected on Ciri, a look that says she knows he’s lying and does he want to own up before she calls him on it. As a matter of fact, he decides, he doesn’t. 

Geralt appears by way of the kitchen door, saving Jaskier from Yennefer’s gaze. He sets a glass before Jaskier that reminds him of the drinks he used to order called a hurricane and he glances to Geralt, wondering if his plan is to get him drunk before eating.

“It’s a peanut butter banana smoothie.” Geralt explains and Jaskier would swear he looks uncertain. The glass is cool under Jaskier’s hand as he moves it closer and takes a tentative sip. The cold sends a shiver through him but it tastes so good he takes an honest drink this time, knowing he should wait to see how it settles first. 

“It’s delicious.” Jaskier eases as Geralt settles himself on the barstool next to him, where he’s supposed to be and Yennefer gives him a look that Jaskier doesn’t quite understand but Geralt’s talking to him and he turns away from her.

“If it makes you ill, don't feel you have to finish it.” Geralt cautions as Jaskier pushes the glass a little ways from him. 

Jaskier gives a sheepish grin as he nods, he wants to gulp it down but knows it definitely won’t settle well then. “I’m afraid my self-preservation is a little lacking as of late.” He jokes, the sharp clink of glass meeting glass distracting him from the pained look on Geralt’s face to a matching one on Yennefer’s where she’s righting a glass. 

Burying the awkwardness Jaskier spins the glass slowly where it rests, trying to sense any of the telltale signs his stomach is going to rebel but other than a permeating coldness the smoothie seems to be settling well. “This is really good, thank you.” Jaskier says after another sip, earning a relieved smile from Geralt.

o~O~o

Jaskier didn’t think it too odd when Yennefer asked if it wasn’t too late for him to bring a fruit salad to dinner on Sunday instead, figuring there had been some change of plans to the menu that hadn’t made it into the group chat. However, Jaskier is surprised to find the bar lined up with various dishes rather when he arrives at the White Wolf. 

“Julian!” Ciri announces his arrival like she usually does, racing across the room and abandoning her bracelet making in order to tackle him in a hug.

“Hello Ciri.” Jaskier chuckles, smiling gratefully when Eskel takes the heavy glass bowl from his hands before it can crash to the floor. 

“You’re still wearing your bracelet.” She observes, the tail ends peeking from the edges of his long sleeved tee. 

“Or course. My friend Macee, the one you helped me make a bracelet for, she loved it and told me that you’re supposed to wear it until it falls off and then make a wish.” Ciri drinks this in, adding a new weight to the bracelets she loves making. 

“What are you gonna wish for?” Ciri asks.

“Don’t know. Guess it depends on when it falls off.” Ciri narrows her eyes at Jaksier’s evasive answer but seeing as she’s not getting a better one returns to her table crafts. Eskel and Lambert are already shifting the tables around and Jaskier looks around for a way to help but finding none he tries to tuck himself out of the way and not look too obvious as he looks over the food lined up on the bar.

It looks like mostly simple fare, finger foods with everything from bacon wrapped mini sausages to mini toasts and thin slices of cheese and crackers. Just the thought of some of it makes phantom pains twist Jaskier’s stomach but he’s fairly certain he can handle a little of the fruit he bought and maybe some cheese and crackers if he’s feeling daring. 

There’s no vocal signal to start, instead Eskel and Lambert stand off to the side, waiting for Triss and Yennefer to begin, each taking a plate from the stack at the start of the counter and working their way down the line. Jaskier meanders over, stepping into line behind Lambert, wondering where Geralt is. _Maybe he’s not coming today_. The thought hitches Jaskier’s breath but the unease he expected to follow is lacking, while he would miss Geralt’s occasional comment, this doesn’t feel like when Valdo would drag him places. The stifling awkward feeling of not really knowing these people but being abandoned by the one person who tethered you together.

Jaskier only takes the delicious smell of the sausages with him as he moves down the line, braving a small spoonful of the fruit he cut and three crackers with matching pieces of cheese. He tries not to feel embarrassed by his paltry serving as he returns to the table but no one spares his plate a glance and he settles a little deeper into the comfort of knowing they simply care too much to risk an obvious look. 

Yennefer is deftly shuffling a thick deck of cards and Jaskier catches himself asking, “Did you work in a casino?” He succeeds in drawing the table’s attention, except for Ciri who is happily unpeeling the bacon from the sausages and separating the meat into two piles.

“For a year.” Yennefer’s gaze is appraising as she eyes Jaskier and he wonders if he accidentally referenced a time in her life she tried not to think about much less talk about.

“The...shuffling.” Jaskier explains, gesturing to the deck she still holds, cutting it in half and folding one half over the other one-handed without ever taking her eyes from him. 

“Jack of many trades.” Yennefer murmurs.

“Yet master of none.” Jaskier finishes with a self-deprecating smile. 

“Master of _some_.” Geralt corrects, startling Jaskier who hadn’t heard his approach. Geralt looks apologetic as he sets another tall glass before him, the drink within pale pink. Jaskier ducks his head as Geralt moves to fill his own plate and hopes the stares he feels on him are imaginary. 

“Everyone remember the _real_ rules of Uno?” Yennefer asks, dealing cards with a speed that only comes from experience.

“Four shots for draw four.” Lambert grumbles.

“Reverse to turn the shot back on the person.” Eskel continues, grinning widely at Yennefer’s disapproving look.

“Wild, you get to choose the article of clothing removed.” Triss continues. Yennefer looks to Jaskier who is admiring Ciri’s latest bracelet creation before dividing a flat look between the three of them; best case he’s uncomfortable, worst case a couple shots and he’s hospitalized.

o~O~o

“You don’t finish, you don’t get dessert.” Ciri mock whispers to Jaskier, eyeing his mostly full plate with concern. Jaskier didn’t know what dessert was but he wasn’t interested, his stomach pleasantly full already and he still had a quarter of his smoothie left.

“My smoothie was more filling than I thought.” Jaskier apologizes, nudging the plate guiltily. He’s always hated wasting food but he doesn’t dare risk trying to fit the cheese and crackers, fairly certain anymore in him and he’d end up losing it all.

Confusion draws Ciri’s features in at Jaskier’s words and he doesn’t blame her, she’s surrounded by people who are eating and Jaskier can’t so much as manage a cracker.

“Jaskier’s stomach is having a hard time with food so Geralt’s making him smoothies. You like when I make you smoothies, don’t you?” Yennefer keeps her tone gentle, more for Jaskier’s sake than Ciri’s and as much as Jaskier is grateful his eyes still burn.

“Yeah! Cept when you put spinach in ‘em.” Ciri wrinkles her nose and eyes Jaskier’s glass suspiciously, “Did Geralt put spinach in yours?” 

“If he did I can’t taste it.” Jaskier says, glancing to Geralt who shrugs in a ‘didn’t think it would hurt to try’ manner. 

"I can always taste it when mommy puts it in.” Ciri says solemnly and Yennefer just shakes her head with a sigh. 

Without a word Geralt settles Jaskier’s plate on top of his own empty one, plucking a cracker topped by cheese up and eating it before playing his card like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I swear (triple checked and *everything*) the next chapter is the Fall Festival.
> 
> Until then, have some more fluff riddled with angst.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for the first time does Geralt wish he had Yennefer’s way with words, the ability to know exactly what to say to call out his hurts and soothe them without doing more damage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Fall Festival lovely readers!  
> Have I told you how honored I am that you're here, reading this? That I carry your comments with me as little stars in my pocket?   
> Thank you, for reading and commenting and sticking with this.
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to VeritasRose for her notes in this chapter on continuity. I write and rarely look back (much to the detriment of details).

“Need me to grab anything?” Jaskier asks, looking around the empty bar, it was odd to see it so empty on a Friday afternoon.

“Everything should be there.” Geralt says, taking a last lap and making sure everything is locked and shut off for the night. Geralt heads down the hall and Jaskier falls into step, waiting in the doorway when Geralt ducks into the office. 

Jaskier spies the spare helmet on the end of the couch and feels silly for not having considered they wouldn’t be taking Geralt’s truck. Jaskier’s eyebrows raise as Geralt frowns, looking over the long sleeved-tee Jaskier is wearing under a t-shirt; not nearly enough protection against the cool night air let alone the whipping wind for the ride over. 

Geralt briefly considers giving Jaskier his jacket but it will only serve its purpose if it’s zipped shut and he’s not sure Jaskier would be able to hold onto him then. It takes a few lockers but he finds spare leathers, grabbing the smallest jacket he leaves his sigh in the locker as he knows it will still be too large on Jaskier. 

Turning Geralt offers the jacket to Jaskier who looks shamed when he takes it and pulls it on. “Thanks.” It’s too big like he guessed but only two or three sizes, must be one of Eskel’s early ones. 

It’s only after Geralt’s mounted Roach, Jaskier unmoving beside him does he consider it might be uncomfortable for Jaskier to ride with him. Geralt thinks back to the last time Jaskier had been on Roach, but that had been months ago, back when he was just trying to get out of a bad situation but nothing had really changed, right? 

Except _everything_ had changed, Jaskier had become a part of their group and, if Geralt could be honest with himself in the light of day, something more to Geralt. 

“I can ask Yennefer to come pick us up.” Geralt offers, focusing on making sure it was _us_ and not _you_ , the last thing he wanted was to make this situation more awkward than he already had. 

“I won’t...tip you?” Jaskier whispers the words and Geralt feels sick, nearly losing his grip and toppling Roach. 

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt has to pause, swallow down the pain that roughens his voice. “You could never tip me.” Not for the first time does Geralt wish he had Yennefer’s way with words, the ability to know exactly what to say to call out his hurts and soothe them without doing more damage. 

Jaskier deliberates a moment longer before pulling on the helmet and swinging a leg over Roach, tentatively resting his hands on Geralt’s waist. 

“You have to hold on Jaskier, you won’t hurt me.” Geralt hopes it comes across as teasing and he feels Jaskier’s grip tighten fractionally, still more jacket than Geralt and he knows he’ll be taking it slower than normal. 

Jaskier tries to keep his distance from Geralt, Valdo’s words making him awkward in the face of close proximity, awakening shame not long forgotten. Between the gentle rhythm of the bike and Geralt’s promise Jaskier finds himself shifting closer to Geralt, his grip tightening, willing himself to ignore Valdo’s words.

The school parking lot is organized chaos when they pull in, cars dot the spaces between bikers and motorcycles with colorful boxes before them lining the edges of the vast parking lot. Geralt knows exactly where he’s going and deftly weaves through, receiving muffled greetings as they pass. 

Pulling up next to a familiar Challenger, Geralt parks Roach and relishes the final moments of Jaskier not keeping as much distance between them as possible, hoping maybe his words have gotten through. Jaskier steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he dismounts, barely having his helmet off before he hears a familiar voice call his name.

“Julian!” Ciri appears seemingly out of nowhere, throwing herself against him, Jaskier stumbles back but a hand on his shoulder keeps him from tipping too far. 

“Careful Ciri.” Geralt cautions gently but he barely gets through before he finds himself being tackled as well. 

“You’re here!” Ciri cheers and it’s only when she steps back do they get a good look at her and Jaskier can’t stop the laughter that bursts forth. Ciri is in black boots, jeans, t-shirt with her hair pulled back in a half pony. Standing side by side the resemblance is uncanny, the only thing that would make it better– 

“I see you appreciate Ciri’s costume of choice.” Yennefer says, strolling up with a familiar small leather jacket in her hands and Jaskier can’t stop laughing even as Geralt blushes. “You’re laughing now.” Yennefer arches her eyebrow at him and Jaskier imagines he should be worried about something but seeing Ciri dressed as Geralt standing right next to him is just too cute. 

Yennefer insists on getting a few pictures, of course one with Ciri on Roach and them together, Ciri matching Geralt’s frown which causes him to break into a fond grin that Yennefer manages to capture as well. 

“Corrupting the youth now, are we?” Geralt straightens at the voice before turning. 

“Vesemir.” Geralt nods and Jaskier realizes what’s so odd, he’s never seen Geralt formal before. Grumpy, pissed off, annoyed, hell even pained but this is the first time he’s seen Geralt look like he feels made small by someone else and Jaskier studies this new person with interest.

“Don’t give him all the credit, I worked very hard at it for two years before he came along.” Yennefer cuts in, resting a hand on Ciri’s shoulder who’d inched to her mother’s side. 

“Thank you again for letting us use this space.” Geralt continues as though Yennefer hadn’t spoken but Vesemir looks more amused at her comment than upset.

“Come now, Geralt, it has been years.” The tension that had strung Geralt’s shoulders eases as he steps forward and claps the man on the back soundly. 

“It is good to see you.” Vesemir smiles as he hugs Geralt back.

“I thought I taught you better than to lie.” Vesemir says, pulling back a teasing glint in his eye. 

“Not even back for ten minutes and already Geralt’s managed to do something worthy of Vesemir visiting.” Eskel’s voice draws the group's attention, Lambert a step behind him. 

“It’s not as though you two weren’t accomplices.” Vesemir’s flat tone is softened by the curl of his lips as he shakes his head at the two former students, shaking each of their hands in turn. 

“Vesemir runs a school for challenged youths.” Geralt admits and Jaskier feels like this isn’t something many know but he doesn’t know how not to make him regret it and settles on awkwardly nodding. 

“Always so serious, Geralt.” Vesemir shakes his head at Geralt before turning to Jaskier. “I taught him how to use his hands for something other than fighting.” 

“He taught me how to cook.” Geralt grumbles, a blush staining his cheeks.

“ _Oh._ ” Jaskier breathes and Vesemir gets a look in his eye that makes both Jaskier and Geralt shift their weight while the other just laugh.

“I see you’ve experienced his cooking then, good to know he still has the touch.” Vesemir grins at Geralt. “Well, I will let you get to it then. This is a wonderful thing you’ve done.” With that Vesemir disappears back the way he came.

o~O~o

“Oh, please mommy. _Pleeease._ ” Ciri begs Yennefer who looks to Jaskier, trying to gauge if he’s just being nice or if he truly doesn’t mind taking Ciri around trunk-or-treating. Jaskier thought Yennefer would want to if for no other reason than to make sure nothing happened but looking around he realizes the sea of bikers he understands this is probably safe enough Ciri could manage on her own. _Could_. Though there’s a long line of people behind Yennefer who would never so much as entertain the possibility. 

“You listen to everything he says, Cirilla.” Yennefer tells her and Ciri stops her bouncing and nods seriously, candy-getting is a no nonsense business. 

“Lead the way, Mini-G.” Jaskier says, holding out his hand. Ciri giggles and Geralt raises an eyebrow which only serves to set Yennefer and Jaskier off. 

Armed with her Witcher drawstring bag and glow stick bracelets securely fastened they set off. Jaskier had thought Lambert and Eskel were just being cheeky with an actual trunk set between their motorcycles decorated to look like a miniature dumpster filled with candy, a sign haphazardly hung on the front that read: Dumpster Dive for Candy. 

It doesn’t take Jaskier long to see that the trunk part was taken more literally, there were cars and trucks every so often, decorated in some manner but it seems the majority of bikers had chosen to show up like the Witcher crew, in their leathers with actual trunks decorated to look like various things.

The one Ciri is most taken with is a trunk designed to look like an open jewelry box, the inside lid had been fitted with a mirror and a ballet dancer is frozen mid pirouette on a thin pedestal rising from the middle of the trunk’s bottom, surrounded by a stage of candy. 

Jaskier feels it creeping on, his heart seeming to flutter and his breaths coming shorter and shorter. He knows he needs to get Ciri back to Yennefer but he’s not sure he’ll make it that far, the security of knowing Geralt trusts these people, that they run with the Witchers provides little comfort.

“Ciri, what do you say we head back?” Jaskier hates how breathy his voice sounds and is grateful that Ciri either doesn’t notice or is more upset by the prospect of returning so soon.

After a longing look at the parking lot stretched before them she nods reluctantly and starts to turn back the way they came. Jaskier sends up a silent thanks to Yennefer’s mom skills and makes a mental note to buy her something _extra_ nice for Christmas.

“We’ll just empty your bag and head back out, don’t want it to get too full or heavy by the time we reach the other end.” Jaskier metes out the words, breaths interspersed and he hopes he can keep his promise, that _someone_ will take her when he can’t. 

“You quitting already?” Yennefer asks as soon as they’re in range, once they’d spotted them approaching either Yennefer or Geralt had an eye on them, even as they continued passing out candy and talking to the parents who happened by. 

Jaskier skims his hand along the side of Yennefer’s car as it gets harder to determine the difference between the black spots eating his vision and the darkening night. When his fingers trail off into only air he figures he’s made it far enough and gracelessly sits on the ground. 

“Julian said I should empty my bag so it doesn’t get too heavy.” Ciri happily explains, moving past Yennefer and opening the Challenger’s passenger door before she proceeds to upend her bag on the seat. Jaskier watches from his place on the ground, relieved that at least she’s safe from the greedy blackness.

“Jaskier?” Geralt hadn’t missed the sleeves pushed up to his elbows when Jaskier returned with Ciri, having left the jacket on Roach Geralt was certain Jaskier must be cold but bare arms and a dazed look set him moving. If it weren’t for the interior car lights Geralt isn’t certain he would’ve found Jaskier in the dark just beyond the Challenger’s bumper.

Jaskier starts at the sound of his name, Geralt kneeling in front of him, searching him even though they both know Geralt has a better than good idea what’s wrong.

“I ate...before we came.” Jaskier’s words are almost a plea and it pains Geralt that he thinks he needs to justify his body failing him. 

“It’s not your fault.” Geralt reassures, even though it doesn’t quite fit Jaskier’s statement. “I’ll be right back.” Geralt says automatically, doubting Jaskier could wander off even if he wanted to. 

“Our cub ok?” Yennefer asks, having sensed something was amiss she’d sent Ciri off with Eskel to finish her candy rounds, saving both her and Jaskier.

“Maybe.” Geralt holds Yennefer’s gaze and she nods, both knowing that when it came to Jaskier, ok was a chasm he was often teetering on. Popping the trunk Geralt opens the cooler he’d carefully packed and removes the tumbler within before heading back to Jaskier. 

Jaskier barely stirs when Geralt kneels in front of him and Geralt tries to quell the worry that rises. “Jaskier?” Blue eyes fight to focus but they eventually settle on Geralt who offers up the cup. Jaskier accepts it and Geralt isn’t sure he’s going to be able to hold its weight at first but with minimal shaking Jaskier brings it to his lips and takes a sip. 

Then another.

Each one bringing a little more awareness back to him, the flush, having burned through him, now leaves him cold, the smoothie slowly filling his belly only adding to the shivers wracking his frame.

“I’m sorry–Ciri?” It’s not so much panic as concern in Jaskier’s voice as he squints into the lighted parking lot beyond.

“You both made it back, Eskel took her out again.” Geralt reassures, slipping his coat off he drapes it about Jaskier’s shoulders, smiling fondly when Jaskier settles into its warmth, tugging the edges closer as though he means to curl up in it. 

Taking another sip Jaskier pulls the cup away and eyes it, “How did you know I would need this?” His voice is small, almost hurt at the thought Geralt _expected_ this of him now and Geralt knows he can’t fuck this up.

“I didn’t know you would need it, but I’d still rather have it just in case.” Geralt’s honesty and care warms Jaskier’s cheeks as he ducks his head, hiding his smile.

o~O~o

“Did I miss them?” Jaskier asks before he’s fully set foot inside the White Wolf. Still wearing his Just Around the Corner polo he tries to surreptitiously rub the chill of the crisp autumn air from his arms. 

“I think you’re more excited than Ciri is.” Triss teases. Jaskier just rolls his eyes, it isn't so much that he wants to see Ciri’s other costume, it's that she wanted to show it to him. He was an only child but he imagined this was what it felt like to have a younger sister.

Jaskier realizes he’s subconsciously positioned himself next to Geralt who smiles down at him and Jaskier looks away, willing his cheeks to stop burning. 

Yennefer slips through the door, a mischievous grin on her face as she asks, “Are you ready?” Nods around the room from the small found family and even a few regulars turn to look, having met Ciri before. Yennefer steps to the side and holds the door open with one arm, Ciri easily slipping under it as she strolls into the White Wolf to laughter and smiles.

Dressed in black skinny jeans with worn-through knees, a long sleeved blue shirt and converse Ciri looks cute if not quite a costume. It’s the child sized guitar she has strapped to her back that brings the whole look together and for all that he is embarrassed Jaskier feels none of it as he smiles at her. 

“If only you had your guitar.” Yennefer comments as she gestures for them to stand together. Jaskier keeps hold of his undershirt as he strips off Jac's polo, leaving him in a black long sleeved tee similar to Ciri before he stands next to her, matching grins as Yennefer snaps a photo.

“Now mommy?” Ciri asks as soon as Yennefer releases them from posing. 

“Yes.” Yennefer smiles fondly and follows Ciri back out the door.

“She’s really excited to start trick or treating.” Jaskier comments, absently folding his polo. 

“Off tonight?” Geralt asks, ignoring Triss’ raised eyebrow at the question.

“Yeah.” Is all Jaskier gets out before the door is opening again and Ciri returns, a parcel wrapped in burnt orange metallic paper and green ribbon in her arms, Yennefer carrying another one. 

“Happy Samhain!” Ciri crows as she offers Jaskier the present. Jaskier blinks at her, confused not only by the words she’d said but that she was trying to gift him something. Again.

“Thank you?” Jaskier looks to Yennefer who only sets the other package before him.

“You call it Halloween but we celebrate a bit...differently.” Yennefer says by way of explanation. 

“Open it!” Ciri rocks back and forth where she stands and Jaskier’s fingers are struck dumb at not only receiving gifts but for Halloween and he’s the only one. Inside is a plain white box but within that is a metal tumbler, rainbow oxidized with a clear lid and matching rainbow straw. 

“It’s for your smoothies until your stomach gets better.” Ciri beams up at him, so honest in wanting to make him feel better he has to swallow back the lump in his throat before he can thank her. 

Ciri scrambles up on the barstool closest to him with help from Yennefer and as soon as she can reach she’s nudging the other gift closer to him. This one is soft, clearly not something boxed and the ribbon slips off easily before Jaskier tears the paper and finds folds of muted rainbow fabric. Holding it up shows it to be a jacket, a mix between tye-dye and smears of color the jackets cuffs and collar are a subdued maroon, the inside lining black and thick without being heavy to keep out the cold.

Jaskier tries not to wince when he spies the M on the tag, refusing to let it ruin the gesture he forces it to the side for later hurt. “Yennefer,” He starts, unsure how to thank her while telling her she didn’t need to do this, to save her money, that he could probably afford his own coat in a few weeks.

“Do you like it?” Ciri peers up at him hopefully.

“It’s perfect.” He tells her before turning to Yennefer, “But you really didn’t need to do this. I can–”

“It’s for my own sanity Jaskier.” Yennefer cuts him off with a look that says all further protests will be moot.

“Try it on!” Ciri swivels side to side where she sits. As Jaskier slides the jacket on there’s a moment of fear that slows his movements as he thinks it might not fit but it settles around his shoulders and the front overlaps easily.

Ciri claps excitedly and Yennefer nods approvingly as Geralt says, “Looks good on you.” Jaskier ducking his head under their attention. 

“Certainly won’t lose you in a crowd in that thing.” Lambert grumbles, earning an elbow from Eskel but Jaskier doesn’t care, he likes it.

“Alright, we should be going if we want to get started at dark.” Yennefer says. With a final round of hugs from Ciri and a murmured thanks to Yennefer who nods solemnly they head out.

“Would you want to stay for dinner?” Jaskier swears he’s misheard Geralt through the crinkle of him collecting the wrapping paper but the trepidation in Geralt’s eyes tells Jaskier he heard correctly.

A smile he’s helpless to contain as he says, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! A Fall Festival, Vesemir, pagan holiday gifts, Jaskier has a coat. 
> 
> I may have had a *little* too much fun with this chapter and I'm not even a little bit remorseful.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Wolf had just closed for the night and as Geralt brings the phone to his ear his eyes fall closed as he hopes Jaskier hadn’t foolishly waited to call so he wouldn’t be a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I struggle every chapter to express how much your reading this means to me, let alone the comments sharing your thoughts or incoherent sounds. I cherish them all.
> 
> Trigger Warning for this chapter:  
> There is a brief (one, run-on sentence) description of what an anorexic body can look like. It is marked with ~~ before and again after should you need to skip it. If this chapter will be triggering *at all* please be kind to yourself and don't read.

Jaskier’s name flashing across his phone screen at 1:37 in the morning sends a shiver of fear through Geralt he hasn’t felt the likes of in years. The White Wolf had just closed for the night and as Geralt brings the phone to his ear his eyes fall closed as he hopes Jaskier hadn’t foolishly waited to call so he wouldn’t be a nuisance.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says by way of greeting, straining his ears for any hint of background noise.

“Geralt, I don’t...feel so good.” Jaskier’s voice is rough and Geralt thinks back to the disaster of a dinner where Jaskier had forced himself to eat and lost so much more than he had to give. 

“I’m–” Geralt gets no further as choking coughs crackle in his ear.

A few gasping breaths later Jaskier is back and starting again, breathing audible as he says. “I’m not...feeling so good. I...don’t mean to…bother you,” Another round of hacking coughs makes Geralt’s chest hurt. Phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder he whips his jacket off the office chair and yanks it on, back door slamming as he crashes through it.

“Um...lunch. On your lunch...could you please…” Geralt doesn’t let Jaskier finish whatever absurd request he has before he’s assuring him. 

“I’ll be there Jask, on my way now.” Jaskier's protest is swallowed by another bout of coughing before he hangs up and dials Eskel.

“Geralt?” He hates being the one responsible for the fear tinging his friend’s voice when he answers, but no good news comes at this time. 

“Jaskier is sick.” Too many needs clutter his mouth, but Eskel understands and gifts him the silence he requires to untangle them. With a promise from Eskel to run to the 24-hour pharmacy and come to Jaskier’s, Geralt hangs up and breaks every speed limit between him and the apartments. 

Geralt falters at the keypad, cursing he digs out his phone to find a text waiting for him from Eskel, just a string of numbers that once entered see the door opening. Geralt knocks as softly as he can on Jaskier’s door, mindful of the hour, but it doesn’t matter as chest-aching coughs can be heard from within. 

Knowing he shouldn’t but unwilling to wait any longer Geralt tries the handle and is surprised to find it unlocked, revealing Jaskier leaning heavily on the chair adjacent to the couch. It takes visible effort for him to raise his head and look at Geralt, his cheeks flush with fever on his otherwise sallow complexion, the blanket Ciri had given him draped about his shoulders. 

Geralt moves without thinking and is grateful when Jaskier doesn’t flinch away from him, wrapping an arm around Jaskier proves more difficult than he imagined. There’s more cloth than Jaskier and Geralt gives up on finding the sharp jut of Jaskier’s hip and settles himself with wrapping his entire arm about his waist, guiding him back to the couch. 

“Ger...alt.” Heat radiates from Jaskier and only Geralt’s arm about his waist keeps him from collapsing to the floor as coughs wrack his fame. Jaskier slumps onto the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest he wraps the blanket tighter around himself, his eyes barely open as his head nods. 

With a sigh Geralt strips his jacket off, tossing it over the back of the chair he settles on the coffee table before Jaskier, willing Eskel to hurry. “Jaskier?"

Jaskier’s head snaps up, surprise opening his features as he takes in Geralt. “Lunch...already?” The words are drawn out, rattling breaths filling their edges. Geralt’s concern only grows as he wonders how long Jaskier had been sick before calling him? He’d seemed fine at dinner Sunday but that had been days ago.

Another bout of coughs threaten to shake him apart where he sits, ending with a whimper he pulls the blanket impossibly closer. Geralt heads for the kitchen, concerned glances show Jaskier’s at least aware enough to track his movement, glassy blue eyes watch him without seeing as he fills a glass half full with water.

“Small sips.” Geralt encourages, not wanting Jaskier to fill himself up on water before Eskel can get there with something more replenishing. The water seems to help lessen the coughing fits, at least temporarily and it’s not long before a soft knock at the door draws Geralt’s attention. 

“But...you’re here?” Jaskier frowns in the direction of the door and Geralt wonders if Eskel will see himself in as well but when he doesn’t Geralt rises and answers the door. Eskel offers a couple grocery bags, eyes not straying past Geralt even when coughs echo into the hall.

“You need anything else, you call.” Eskel demands and Geralt nods, wondering if he’s already not made the right call. Geralt abandons the grocery bag on the table, tearing free a bottle of Pedialite he shoves the rest into the fridge and returns to the living room. Sitting on the coffee table before Jaskier, Geralt opens the bottle before passing it to him. 

Jaskier’s face twists at the taste and Geralt is reminded of Ciri, she had insisted they tasted terrible and when he’d accused her of exaggerating she dared him to try it himself. She had, in fact, _not_ been exaggerating. The taste left much to be desired, but it would get vital nutrients into Jaskier and that’s all Geralt cares about. 

“Little more.” Geralt encourages and Jaskier raises the bottle again, nearly choking as a coughing fit interrupts and he wraps an arm around his aching ribs. Geralt knows all too well how easy it is to cough a rib out of place and the way Jaskier is sounding he bets it’s going to be soon if it hasn’t already happened.

“A shower will help with congestion.” Geralt prompts though he doesn’t know why as Jaskier just nods slowly but makes no move to rise. “Let’s go, Jaskier.” Hooking one of Jaskier’s arms around his neck he wraps his own around Jaskier’s waist, dragging him up until Jaskier gets his feet under him. It’s a slow trek to the bathroom, stopping twice for coughing fits that see Jaskier clutching his ribs and whimpering when they finally release him. 

The bathroom is small but well enough arranged that Geralt can lean Jaskier against the sink counter while he starts up the shower, temporarily cranking the heat to fill the room with steam as he’d seen Yennefer do for Ciri. Turning back Geralt finds himself faced with a whole new set of problems, undressing Jaskier without making him naked or triggering some memory of Valdo fucking Marx. 

Geralt debates just lifting Jaskier into the shower, clothes and all, but he can’t leave him in wet clothes and it will be so much worse for both of them in the end. 

“Jask, we need to get your shirt and pants off but we’ll leave your boxers on.” There’s a little more awareness to his eyes thanks to the miracle that is Pedialite and he fumbles with the tie of his sleeping pants. Geralt tries not to grimace at just how much they’ve been tightened, the fabric scrunching from being pulled. 

It’s a testament to how sick Jaskier is that he gives no pause to skimming off his shirt, having become so used to his blanket about his shoulders he forgets to set it to the side and so it joins his pants on the floor. The offer to leave dies on Geralt’s lips as he’s faced with the ruination of his neglect. 

He’d known Jaskier was skinny, had been concerned about the juts of his hip bones but he hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one hiding lies beneath clothing. 

**~~**

The mountain peaks of Jaskier’s hip bones are nothing compared to the shadows cast across the valley of his stomach from his jutting ribs, Geralt’s eyes trip down the sharp curves, each one a stark reminder of a time they’d failed him.

**~~**

Geralt is pulled from his personal hell by Jaskier’s hand drifting to his boxers and before he can think better of it he grabs Jaskier’s wrist, his fingers closing around themselves as Ciri’s friendship bracelet slides under his grip. Jaskier’s eyes blow wide and he lets out a pitiful keen that turns to ragged coughs, but makes no move to pull his arm back and Geralt nearly throws his wrist back at him in his rush to unhand him. 

“Sorry. _Fuck_.” Geralt can’t get air into his lungs, he never wanted to see Jaskier look at him that way. “Sorry, just...keep your boxers on.” Jaskier looks a little lost but nods, wrapping his arms around his stomach and Geralt has to turn away from how little arm it takes to do so. 

Jaskier is still leaning heavily against the counter as steam curls around them and Geralt eyes the distance between Jaskier and the shower, cursing the small room. “Are you ready to get in? The steam should help.” Geralt adds, feeling the need to remind Jaskier why he dragged him to the bathroom and asked him to strip. 

Jaskier sways where he stands and Geralt starts rethinking this whole idea, he’s trusting Jaskier won’t simply collapse in the shower but Jaskier’s head dips in a nod and he straightens. Geralt flattens his back to the wall, affording Jaskier as much space as he can while still being close enough to steady him should he falter. 

Jaskier ghosts past Geralt, his shoulder barely brushing Geralt’s chest, a bracing hand on the wall and then Jaskier is behind the curtain, a dull thud following and Geralt waits for more to follow but none do. 

Wet coughs sound as Geralt’s skin grows tacky from the steam, but it works as he hears Jaskier coughing up the irritants, his breathing finally easing. Some time later the water shuts off and the curtain twitches aside, bleary eyes settling on Geralt. “Is cold.” 

What little of Jaskier’s body Geralt can see is strung tight and he worries what good the shower did will be undone if Jaskier doesn’t get dried and in warm clothes soon but that’s a whole other issue he doesn’t dare add to his mounting collection. Not tonight. And so he says, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need help.” Before slipping out the door. 

Geralt upends the other bag over Jaskier’s kitchen table, in addition to the Pedialite there’s saltine crackers and baby aspirin, 7-Up and children’s cough medicine. Geralt’s hands flatten on the table, his breaths shuddering as he tries not to be sick. Eskel was right, what would treat a normal adult could easily overdose Jaskier.

The soft scuff is the only thing that alerts Geralt to Jaskier’s approach and he takes the few remaining seconds he has collecting himself. Jaskier returns to his spot in the middle of the couch, dressed in a fresh pair of soft pants and a worn shirt Geralt hasn’t seen on him in the months since Yennefer took him shopping. Dazed eyes stare at him where he stands in the kitchen, Geralt searches him for any sign of fear or discomfort, fingers still burning from when he’d grabbed him. 

It takes Geralt three attempts before he manages to get the bottle of aspirin open, his hands shaking too hard to operate the safety cap. He measures out what he hopes is an appropriate dose and with a barely chilled bottle of Pedialite from the fridge he turns to find Jaskier starting to get up from the couch.

“My blanket is gone.” He frowns, looking around as though it could possibly be missed in the sparse space.

“It needs to be washed.” Geralt doesn’t have it in him to soften the words and Jaskier pouts but doesn’t press for it further as he draws his knees up to his chest, tucking his arms in as though he’s cold.

“You need to take these.” Geralt offers the tiny plastic medicine cup and the bottle, Jaskier downing the pills without question and wrinkling his nose at the drink but fights to twist it open all the same. Geralt eases it from his grasp, breaking the plastic seal ring before handing it back to Jaskier who can’t look at him as he says, “Thanks.” 

Jaskier sips at the bottle with encouragement from Geralt, even downing a capful of cough syrup which is quickly chased by more Pedialite. Jaskier manages half the bottle before he purses his lips and carefully sets the bottle on the coffee table.

“Jask?” Geralt fights to keep the pain from his voice but all he can see are ribs like gallows steps. 

“‘M cold an' my stomach don’ feel good.” Jaskier says through clenched teeth and Geralt worries if he gave him too much medication at once or just too much medication at all. Geralt doubts Jaskier has any other blankets and he’s not about to go poking around in search of one so he works with what he has. 

Pulling his jacket from where he’d abandoned it upon arrival, Geralt tucks it around Jaskier, sickened by the sight of Witcher so easily encompassing him with his knees drawn to his chest, a mockery to all the name stood for. He starts to straighten and settle in the chair, intending to watch over Jaskier at least until true morning dawns but a soft, “No,” gives him pause.

Jaskier doesn't dare untuck himself from the warmth that's enveloping him but he doesn't want Geralt to leave, not yet. Geralt hesitates, unsure what Jaskier was denying, the jacket? Maybe he was too hot? Simply didn’t want to use Geralt’s jacket like a blanket?

“Please, stay.” Jaskier’s blinks are long, tiredness filling his eyes instead of a fevered glaze and Geralt swallows back his plea of the same words to Jaskier as he settles himself on the couch next to him. 

In the long hours that follow, Geralt doesn’t even notice Jaskier has filled the space where a TV would sit above his notebooks with pictures, thin frames of snapshots from moments at the White Wolf. Instead, his mind turns over all the instances they watched Jaskier slowly killing himself and did nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely readers.  
> Way back when I posted the first chapter I was thinking of when the time would come for this one to be posted and got the nervous giggles. And here we are again, me nervously giggling as I've waited so long to give you this chapter, to share this point in the story and fearing how many of you will throw this fic away never to return. I respect that. This was a rude move, luring you to a false sense of security with fluff. 
> 
> If it's any consolation I swear the recovery tag is real and that there is an unprecedented amount of fluff still ahead. Also, my inbox is always open on tumblr at process-pending should you want to yell at me there. 
> 
> And as if she didn't do enough by betaing this monster of a fic, VeritasRose introduced me to the song Dreamer by Low Roar after she read this chapter and now the two are inextricably linked.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt knows he should have been there, but he’s not got enough arms for all the people who need him right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have words to express my thanks or how happy your comments from the last chapter made me. It was a rough one but I appreciate your support in it.  
> I can't thank you enough, lovely readers.
> 
> And a huge thanks to VeritasRose without whom this fic would be so much less.

Geralt stares at his phone, the screen having flickered black and refusing to come back on hours ago now left him with a whole new problem: He still needed to tell Yennefer he wouldn’t be in this morning. Normally no one went in this early but it was Thursday and that meant delivery was today and his presence would be noted and missed. 

He’s no doubt Eskel will tell her what he knows but after all these years he knows she'll take it better coming from him, to not be blindsided at work and, if nothing else, Geralt was never one to put his hard work on someone else. Though the evidence of that lie has been tucked into his side for hours. 

Geralt eases Jaskier up enough he can slip out from under him, a snuffling noise of protest is Jaskier’s only response before he settles into the warmth of Geralt’s abandoned seat, pulling his jacket closer. Jaskier’s phone lays abandoned on the coffee table from where Geralt guesses he set it after his dazed call to him and Geralt eyes it, too many reasons staying his hand but only temporarily.

There’s no lock on the phone and Geralt knows he shouldn’t be surprised, he seriously doubted Marx allowed Jaskier anything approaching a semblance of privacy. Not wanting to press his trust more than he already is, Geralt starts dialing the number only to have the suggestion of auto-fill pop up. With a tap _Calling...Yennefer_ is across the screen and Geralt steps into the kitchen, not wanting to stray too far lest Jaskier wake up.

“Julian!” Ciri’s voice fills Geralt’s ear and his knees weaken.

Eyes falling closed Geralt forces his tone above the strangled whisper it starts as, “Ciri, I need to talk to your mom.” 

“Pama? Is Julian ok? The excited tone that had filled his ear seconds ago, so happy he’s sure the room momentarily brightened, is now wavering. 

“Ciri, _please_.” Geralt hates using his stern voice, the one that comes without his permission whenever she nearly hurts herself, whenever his instinct is to protect her. Though it’s muffled, Geralt can make out Ciri calling Yennefer’s name and the phone being passed before her fear tinged voice fills his ear.

“Geralt? Is everything…” There’s trepidation in Yennefer’s voice, she knows what’s coming even before he says it. 

“I won’t be in today. Jaskier’s... _sick_.” 

“Is it,” He hears her swallow the tears in her voice, before whispering, “Serious?” 

Geralt’s eyes settle on the sleeping form, only now does he realize the only times he’s seen Jaskier at peace is when he’s sleeping and so he forces himself to admit to her their reckoning had come, “We fucked it up, Yenna.” 

Geralt clenches his jaw against the choked sounds of Yennefer trying to hold herself together, Ciri crying in the background as she begs to know what’s wrong with her friend, what’s wrong with Julian. Geralt knows he should have been there, but he’s not got enough arms for all the people who need him right now. 

Yennefer excuses herself and the last thing he hears is Ciri’s tearful, “Is Julian dying, mommy?” And though he’s not proud of it, hate rises inside Geralt at the site of Jaskier, but just as quick as it comes it goes and he’s left feeling infinitely more empty.

Geralt can’t bring himself to return to the couch, the need to move, to run, overwhelming but he can’t, not anymore and so he stays, pacing the small space, as his mind runs, a thought for every step, looping again and again…

_…won’t I tip you…_

_…promises of being better…_

_…blacking out…_

_…again…_

_…and again…_

_…and nearly again…_

_…my self-preservation is a little lacking as of late..._

Geralt starts at the confused call of his name, Jaskier sitting up on the couch, swaying slightly in a sleepy daze as he blinks at Geralt, confused. “Geralt? What are…” Jaskier’s eyes squint closed as he presses fingers to his forehead, tugging Geralt’s jacket back up from where it’d slipped from his shoulders.

“You called me. You’re sick.” The words are thick in Geralt’s mouth, a feeling thrumming through him he dare not put a name to. 

“And you came.” Jaskier whispers the words, marveling, but Geralt has no more room for the pain to grow inside him as Jaskier’s panicked apologies start. “I’m sorry. Oh, _cock,_ you came here. I’m sorry. I’m _better_ , I didn’t–” Jaskier’s frantic apologies are ended by a harsh cough, groaning he clutches his ribs, hunching over.

“You need more medicine.” Geralt says, a command to himself as he heads for the kitchen. He’s shaking too hard, even if it doesn’t show, to open the bottles so he gathers the medications and a fresh glass of water, lining them up on the coffee table before Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s eyes trip from one bottle to the next, confusion drawing his features in. “Children's…?” 

“An adult dose could kill you.” The words are sour, fear dressed up in honesty.

“What?” the honest denial in Jaskier’s voice stops Geralt in his tracks. He can’t, he _won’t_ , do this anymore. 

Rounding on Jaskier he snaps, “There’s not enough left of you for an adult dose. You weigh that of a _child_.” Jaskier leans back as though Geralt had physically struck him, eyes wide as he sees Geralt, not the leader of the Witchers, not the surly owner of the White Wolf, just Geralt. The strongest man he’s ever met, brought to his knees by his own hand.

“We’re worried about you Jaskier, all of us.” Geralt takes a shuddering breath, thoughts and words crashing together. Yennefer had warned them, they’d seen this coming and they’d done _nothing_ and yet he’s still surprised they fucked it up. “You’ve been sick for so long Ciri thinks you’re dying.” 

Jaskier makes a strangled noise, his mouth opening but no words come.

“We’ve been lying to her this whole time, Jask. We’ve been lying to _ourselves_.” The words are choked and Geralt can no longer stand, freed from the weight of his admission he drops heavily into the chair adjacent to the couch, his arms on his knees as he hunches forward. 

Geralt can’t stand knowing he’s the reason behind the hurt look on Jaskier’s face, the reassurances coming too quick “I’ll be better. I..I know I’ve been sick lately, but please Geralt don't... _please._ I–”

“ _Dammit Jaskier._ ” Geralt is helpless to contain his tears any longer. Spilling down his cheeks calloused hands scrub them away, fingers wet with shame as Jaskier’s empty acceptance turns to an honest plea. “I don’t know how to be me anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your pitchfork if you were surprised that we had another kick-in-the-feels chapter. I mean, it's kind of what I do, spread the angst and pain because...well, fluff is hard. That doesn't mean it isn't coming, I just have to work myself up to it. Make sure you *really* appreciate the fluff. And besides, wasn't this fun? Now they're *both* crying.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing you say will,” Upset us, but that’s another lie and at this point she almost gives in but lies are what brought them here. “Make us angry at you. We just want to help, we want to understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I have complimentary tissues for those of you who have feels that are still weeping, each package has a gold star on it cause you're all awesome!  
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this monster and bouncing ideas at all hours.

Geralt shuts the blender off, looking to Jaskier to see if he too had heard the noise and in the silence that follows it sounds again, a knock at the door. Jaskier starts to rise but Geralt waves him back down, certain he would hear the medicine rattle in Jaskier’s empty stomach if he moved. 

Geralt reaches for the lock before finding he never turned it last night, but it doesn’t matter as he didn’t sleep anyway. Opening the door Geralt is met with a Yennefer he’s not seen the likes of in years, not since the night they rushed Ciri to the emergency room with pneumonia. 

Geralt recognizes in her the same trembling that still fills him, like all your broken bones haven’t been set right. She stares up at him, looking nothing like the carefully put together woman she armors herself into before leaving each day, eyes red and dried tear tracks on her cheeks, no makeup having graced her features this morning. 

“Yennefer?” Jaskier’s voice is raspy but it breaks their shared agony and Geralt steps to the side, Yennefer squeezing his hand as she slips past. 

“I heard you were sick, hun.” Yennefer says as she perches on the edge of the chair, body pointed towards Jaskier. 

“You never call me hun, must be serious.” Jaskier teases but the stricken look on Yennefer’s face takes the grin from his. “Sorry. I’m ok, really.” 

“There’s nothing ok about this Jaskier.” Yennefer’s voice is already tired and Jaskier’s sharply reminded of Geralt’s words, _Ciri thinks you’re dying_. 

“I’m sorry, Yenn.” Fresh tears well in Jaskier’s eyes as he brings a shaking hand to stifle the sobs that threaten. Yennefer is out of her chair, carefully pulling Jaskier into a hug as he chokes out, “Is Ciri, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean….” She pulls back, unable to stand the sharp points of his shoulder blades, how he feels as small as Ciri in her arms.

Yennefer clenches her jaw against the fresh wave of tears, but the sight of a well loved friendship bracelet slipping up Jaskier’s arm is her undoing, the careful composure she’d kept long enough to drop Ciri off at school, collected once more before she got out of her car in the parking lot, breaks.

Geralt is guiding her up and she finds herself in his arms, her head tucked under his chin as he just holds her, taking her tears when she knows he has too many of his own already.

Jaskier doesn’t allow himself to turn away from the pain he’s inflicted even as it makes him sick to know he’s adding to the list of horrors she’s experienced. Geralt’s eyes open and meet his over Yennefer’s head moments before she’s pulling away, swiping her cheeks and before Jaskier’s eyes he watches as she arms herself for the battle ahead. 

Yennefer resumes her seat and Jaskier knows he would be sick if he had anything to give, the cough medicine souring in his belly and he clenches his teeth against his watering mouth. 

“Don’t do your looming thing.” Yennefer directs Geralt who is still standing from where she’d slipped from his arms. He turns and heads back into the kitchen, the feel of two sets of eyes weighing his actions as he fills the rainbow tumbler with smoothie before returning to the living room. 

Geralt hands Jaskier the tumbler, briefly wondering if he’s even able to hold it filled as it is, but Jaskier’s there with both hands and answering his uncertainty of where to sit by scooching to the side as though space were the problem. Geralt reclaims his seat, hating how the motion nearly sends Jaskier bouncing from the couch.

Jaskier sips the smoothie, it tastes good and his stomach doesn’t protest the gentle fare and he wants to gulp it down but forces himself to settle it in his lap.

Yennefer is looking to him but Geralt still doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have any more words than the ones he’d snapped at Jaskier, mouth still burning from their honesty but he has to say something and with hollow eyes he meets Jaskier’s. “I can’t lose you, Jask.” 

Jaskier shrinks under the weight, looking smaller than just what these months have stolen from him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I–” 

“Julian.” Yennefer interrupts when it looks like Geralt is having a silent breakdown, his jaw clenching and eyes seeing only the horrors of his mind. “You don’t need to hide from us when you need help, you know that?” Yennefer keeps her tone gentle but the silence drags on, Jaskier’s eyes sliding to Geralt and back to her like he’s looking for the trick to the question, what he’s _supposed_ to say. When he doesn’t find one fear curdles the smoothie in his stomach and he sets the tumbler on the coffee table, finished even as his body begs for more. 

“Nothing you say will,” _Upset us_ , but that’s another lie and at this point she almost gives in but lies are what brought them here. “Make us angry at you. We just want to help, we want to understand.”

Jaskier nods, fiddling with the cuff of the jacket pooled around his hips, only now noticing the many tears that have been finely mended, this jacket had seen more than one fight but Geralt didn’t replace it, he put it back together and trusted it to keep him safe a little longer.

Blue eyes fix on Geralt, waiting until he draws his gaze to say, “I’m sorry I scared you.” There’s only apology this time, the fear that had edged his words is gone and Geralt feels the tightness that had been banding his chest ease. 

“We just want to help, Jaskier. You can’t keep going like this.”

Jaskier winces at Geralt’s words. “I know. I just...I don’t know…” Jaskier’s eyes drop, his fingers tracing over the stitching of the Witcher lettering, the letters having been tacked down in places where they’ve been torn free. 

Yennefer holds her tongue, guessing that Jaskier does know, he just isn’t sure how to say the words, isn’t used to having the security to lay his thoughts bare. 

“How to eat. It...hurts.” Jaskier admits, head never rising from where his fingers map the jacket’s scars. Geralt and Yennefer exchange a look, Yennefer picking up when Geralt doesn’t have the words.

“But you _want_ to eat?” Yennefer keeps her voice gentle, Jaskier’s behavior slowly starting to make sense, a willingness to eat shadowed by shame.

Jaskier flinches and that’s all the answer they need. 

“I want to eat,” His eyes dart up, expecting punishment but none comes. _You’re safe._ “I’m hungry and I know I should but I just... _can’t_.” There’s such frustration in his tone, at his body and mind warring, the want and need were there but the ability failed him time and again and it became easier to just stop fighting. “I don’t know when it’s ok to want it.” He wasn’t sure anymore and he was so tired and cold.

Jaskier folds his knees up, pulling the jacket around himself as he settles back into the couch, fighting the urge to let himself tip sideways into Geralt and fall asleep as another round of coughs jar his aching ribs and Geralt presses the tumbler back into his hands, the smoothie soothing his burning throat.

Geralt had been watching Jaskier, eyeing the space between them with a need to close it but the uncertainty to do so and Yennefer watches as longing turns to a look she’s rarely seen in him, a cold fury that tenses his muscle and she doesn’t need more than one guess to know who it’s directed at and they aren’t here.

To his credit, Geralt manages to swallow down his anger, his voice steady when he says, “Whenever you’re hungry, you should eat.” Jaskier’s eyes widen as though he’s been given permission instead of hearing a statement so obvious it’s rarely, if ever, spoken but this revelation seems to overwhelm Jaskier and he looks more distraught than before. 

“You said it hurts when you eat.” Yennefer says, hoping if they can make it less painful he would be more apt to eat; solve one problem and ease his mounting anxiety. 

Jaskier nods absently as he returns the tumbler to the table, mind clearly still stuck on Geralt’s previous words and Yennefer frowns at Geralt only to find him looking murderous once more. 

The anxiety on Jaskier’s face when the groceries they bought took up more than one shelf, how he’d sorted them across two cabinets, his gentle reminder to Jaskier that it wasn’t all for one meal. Geralt would bet the Wolf Marx kept a close eye on what Jaskier ate, changing it on a whim just to maintain control. 

“Would it be easier if you didn’t have to think about what you ate? If you could just pick something out?” Geralt says slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it without making Jaskier feel worse but Jaskier shrinks under the coat.

“Geralt taught me that trick. I portion things out over the weekend so I can just grab and go during the week.” Yennefer supplies, Jaskier perking up at her words. This was a Thing, not just another concession needed to be made because his mind was too fucked up.

“Can you…” Jaskier peeks at Geralt, twitching under the coat belying his anxiety as he worries the cuff. Geralt waits, not wanting to pressure Jaskier, not wanting to fill his mouth with words like Valdo did. “Um, teach me?” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Geralt says and Jaskier’s shoulders drop from where they’d been hunching higher and higher, a small smile as he nods to himself, he could do this. 

Yennefer doesn’t want to trample the victory, but there was still at least one issue that needed to be addressed. “I’m going to tell you what I tell Ciri, I know you think you’re feeling better but your body needs rest. I can call the store and museum for you, let them know you won’t be in for today.” Yennefer makes a show of eyeing him. “And tomorrow.” 

Geralt and Yennefer expect a protest, he was adamant about going to work when he wasn’t sure what day it was but none comes as Jaskier ducks his head. “I...quit Jac’s.” The admission would be swallowed by the coat if Geralt and Yennefer weren’t memorizing every word. 

Jaskier’s head snaps up, fear in his eyes as he rambles, “I can still pay rent. It’s just Macee had to keep covering for me when I fell asleep on break and without the car payment I don’t _need_ the money. I just...it’s a long walk with the weather getting colder even though there are less hours at the museum but we do special events and I put my name on the list to work them and–”

Geralt’s shaking threatens to make itself visible, Yennefer’s shocked gasp beside him tells him she wasn’t aware he was _walking_ to the museum instead of driving. All the nights Jaskier would come tearing into the White Wolf, apologizing for being late realigned themselves as Geralt fights to keep the tears at bay a little longer. 

“You pay what you can when you can.” Geralt reassures with forced calm at the same time Yennefer says, “I’m relieved you quit.” Jaskier's eyes flick between the two, surprised. 

“Jaskier, rent is the last thing you worry about paying, food and everything else comes first. This apartment is yours as long as you want it.” Geralt tells him, willing Jaskier to believe him, _needing_ Jaskier to believe him and stop. Jaskier turns the promise over, Geralt has never lied to him and though a small voice warns him it’s a trick the feeling Geralt instills in him is deafening.

“Thank you.” Jaskier had spent hours mathing out how to make it work, going over the numbers again and again, trying to convince himself he wouldn’t be useless if he quit. He was so tired and Macee kept covering for him when he would fall asleep on break and had even convinced their manager to send him home early one day after he’d done a marathon three days bouncing between all his jobs. 

“You were wearing yourself thin, that’s a lot for anyone and we were worried about you. And, if you’re ever _really_ hurting for cash you can always babysit Ciri.” Yennefer smiles, she had the most wonderful sitter but knew the girl wouldn’t mind a break once in a while.

At the mention of Ciri’s name fear and shame wash over Jaskier, “Is she…? I’m so sorry.” Tears well in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt regrets using Ciri to get through to him, she was just a child who believed her friend was dying and he’d selfishly burdened Jaskier who was already buckling under his own traumas. 

“She’s...scared. She cares about you and she’s worried, just like we all are.” Yennefer admits, the tears tracking down Jaskier’s cheeks drip onto the jacket, darkening the letters. “She’s at school, she begged me to let her skip and come see you.” Jaskier cries harder, he never meant to scare Ciri, she shouldn’t have to worry about him. 

Geralt puts his arm around Jaskier, hoping he doesn’t pull away but the slight weight tips into him, barely noticeable except for the warmth now seeping through his shirt. Slipping his hand under the jacket, Geralt rubs Jaskier’s arm, trying to comfort him while he looks to Yennefer as Jaskier’s broken apologies grow more ragged as he fights another coughing fit.

Yennefer is out of her chair and in the kitchen, opening one cabinet and then the next until she finds glasses. Filling it from the tap she returns, sitting on the coffee table before Jaskier she rests her hand on his knee, drawing his attention. 

“I need you to take sips of this for me.” Jaskier accepts the glass with a shaking hand, the water sloshing but not spilling over. 

“If you're up for it, what if we made you dinner? You rest up and I’ll bring her over tonight so she can see her Julian is ok.” Jaskier looks worn, the past hour having taken what he’d earned in sleep, but Yennefer knows these two need to see each other for their worlds to be right again. 

Jaskier doesn’t readily agree as they expected, rather he looks more unsure. “I don’t want to scare her more.” Jaskier says with such broken honesty tears rise unbidden to Yennefer’s eyes. 

“It’s not you she’s scared of, it’s _losing_ you.” Yennefer reassures. _It’s what we’re all scared of._

o~O~o

"Julian!" Ciri slips inside the door before Geralt has fully answered it, darting for Jaskier who is sitting on the couch, launching herself at him before he can rise. She clings to him with an abandonment only children possess, she doesn't care if her hug is crooked or that they're tangled together in his music note blanket.

He twists to the side, coughing into the crook of his elbow but Ciri won't be deterred and clings harder. "It's good to see you, Princess. His voice is raspy and Geralt knows he's stretching the time between doses but he wanted to get a little more food into him before assaulting his belly with meds.

Ciri leans back, Jaskier's arms struggling to keep her from slipping and having an untimely introduction to the coffee table. "Mommy said you were sick." Tears threaten and Jaskier knows he can't fuck this up, not for her.

"I caught a nasty cold but Geralt and your mom have been taking really good care of me and I'm feeling better already." Jaskier almost, _almost,_ believed the words himself as Ciri eyes him skeptically, but not knowing how to find the lie in the words accepts it "Did they give you popsicles? I always get popsicles when I’m sick.” 

“Popsicles? They’ve been holding out on me.” Jaskier mocks affront. 

“Mommy. Jaskier _needs_ popsicles.” Ciri says, twisting around to where Yennefer and Geralt are doing a horrible job at not obviously watching.

“Ciri, I’m–”

  
“What do you say we go get him some after dinner?” Geralt smoothly offers. Popsicles should be easy enough on Jaskier’s stomach and it’s something Ciri can feel like she’s doing for him.

“Yes!” Ciri cheers before turning back to Jaskier, “The blue ones are the _best_.” She says so seriously that Jaskier knows he would eat a blue popsicle everyday for the rest of his life if it meant he never had to feel her cling to him with such desperation again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA-DA! The recovery tag is officially kicking in. For keeps this time and everything. 
> 
> I know many of you brought up getting him medical treatment but for him a treatment program would bring up a host of problems that he's not equipped to deal with. Geralt & Co. are fully aware of the situation and a steadier recovery can begin. I hope that isn't disappointing.  
> And look, now *everyone* is crying! 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this and sharing your thoughts, they get me through the days <3


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Geralt.” Jaskier meets his eyes, a feeble challenge, one that, if lost, he may never recover from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, hold on, your awesomeness was offkilter. Got you all set to rights now. Welcome back lovely readers! I can't thank you enough for your unending support in this or sticking with me through this. 
> 
> And an enormous thank you to VeritasRose, she not only beta's this monster but bounces ideas and helps make this fic what it is.

“I’m feeling better, really.” Jaskier teases Geralt after he catches the man casting him yet another worried look. “I stayed home _all_ weekend, besides you and Yennefer kept me full of soup and cold meds.” 

When Geralt told Jaskier he was not playing at the White Wolf at all the past weekend it had sent him into such a bad coughing fit he’d lost the meager contents of his stomach. Geralt had reassured him it was only because of his cold and should the cough be gone by the next weekend he would be more than welcome. 

Jaskier wanted to protest but he moved from couch to bed and back again, sleeping unless he was encouraged awake to eat and take meds, Yennefer and Geralt staying even if it was only to watch him sleep. 

“If we weren’t there you would have come in.” Geralt arches an eyebrow in challenge and though Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, he's right and Jaskier ends up looking away sheepish. 

Jaskier wanted to feel better but more than that he wanted to _be_ better and that meant going with Geralt to get groceries and then cooking and portioning out the meals. Which sounded great except Jaskier was still feeling worn down from his cold, not that he was telling Geralt that. 

The cab of Geralt’s truck is warm and Jaskier holds his fingers up to the vents, relishing as the cold that stiffens them is thawed. All too soon they’re at the grocery store and Jaskier is tucking them away in the pockets of his rainbow coat, smiling at the looks they get as he strolls in beside Geralt with his default scowl and Witcher jacket.

“What?” Geralt asks, catching Jaskier grinning at him in a way that makes him nervous.

“You have resting biker face.” Jaskier’s grin only grows when Geralt’s brow furrows at him, thinking it’s another of his antics and Jaskier texts Triss while Geralt gets a cart, his grin only growing with each tap. 

The smile falls from Jaskier’s face when Geralt unfolds a piece of notebook paper that turns out to be their grocery list, the smoothie he drank for breakfast settling heavier inside him. 

“If you’re not feeling up to this–” Geralt starts, catching Jaskier’s grin slipping from his face.

“ _No_ , no. I just…I’m fine. What, ah, what do we need?” Jaskier reminds himself he asked for this, that Geralt was doing this for him and the very least he could do is be grateful and not waste the man’s time. Geralt eyes him but doesn’t press, just sets an easy pace through the store, starting easier with vegetables and fruits, hoping to rid Jaskier of the haunted look in his eyes. 

“Are you allergic?” Geralt asks when Jaskier frowns at the avocados Geralt is picking through, thinking he really should have asked this long ago, at least before he’d planned out meals that would be easy on Jaskier’s recovering stomach. 

“Probably not?” Jaskier shrugs.

“Mmm.” Geralt growls, doubting Jaskier could handle even the mildest of allergic reactions in his current state.

“I’ve never had one, not really sure what it is.” Jaskier admits as Geralt puts the fruit back onto the pile. 

“It’s an avocado.” Geralt says slowly, wanting to blame Valdo Fucking Marx but highly doubting Jaskier’s lack of familiarity with avacodos could rightfully be placed on him. 

“Oh,” Jaskier nods but there’s little recognition in his voice. They make it through the rest of the produce department without Geralt worrying about Jaskier’s upbringing again but the confidence he’d gained fades the farther they get and with each new item added to the cart. 

Geralt noticed Jaskier growing quieter, the way he watched with fear in his eyes as box after box of veggie noodles were added to the cart, fresh ham from the deli shaved so thin it could barely hold itself together, rice, and real butter, but it was the gallon of whole milk that Geralt thought might be Jaskier’s undoing. 

The cart was full, Geralt having been the one guiding it through the aisles more out of concern that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to by the time they were done but now he thinks Jaskier wouldn’t be able to move it from the sheer mental weight he associates with it. 

“This isn’t for one week of meals, this will be at least a month’s worth.” Jaskier’s eyes flicker up from where they’d been tripping around the cart, he’d never bought so much food at once, Valdo cautioning him what people must think of such gluttony having always stayed his hand. 

“A month.” The words are shaky as Jaskier repeats them, but it does ease the anxiety a little, at least until he thinks of all that food fitting inside him in a month, the pain that waits in the bottom of each bowl and he subconsciously wraps his arms around his stomach. 

Geralt had worked it so they would end with something easy, something Jaskier didn’t seem to protest eating too much, yogurt and now he’s more grateful than ever. Geralt grabs a few tubs of plain vanilla, they work as a great base for smoothies and can be added to recipes to thicken and get some healthy calories in Jaskier.

Jaskier, to his credit, scans the individual cups, Geralt surreptitiously noting which he picks, happy when he adds two from the special flavors, the strawberry cheesecake he got last time but after a hesitation he settles on apple fritter and tucks it into the corner of the cart, hands fluttering as he fights to leave them there. 

“Think we’ve got everything.” Geralt makes a show of tucking the list away and heading for the registers before Jaskier can talk himself out of his choices. It’s only when Jaskier slips around the front of the cart, guarding the card reader does Geralt remember that he was supposed to stop, Jaskier paying. 

It’s not that he didn’t think Jaskier had the money, though that was a concern with the continually deteriorating state of his shoes and insistence he could pay rent with the help of extra shifts. There was simply a lot here, ingredients that would stretch on for meals, enough he was certain it would go bad before Jaskier could make it through it all if left to his own devices. And now he’d missed his chance to stop it before it could start.

“Jaskier–” 

“Geralt.” Jaskier meets his eyes, a feeble challenge, one that, if lost, he may never recover from. 

“Half. Since we’re both doing meal preps it’s not right for you to pay for all of it.” Geralt reasons. Jaskier debates, the want to protest clear, but Geralt has a feeling the total that would flash on the screen at the end is what finally makes him concede. 

“It’s the least I can do for you helping me.” Jaskier counters.

“I enjoy the company.” The words slip out before Geralt can think better of them, a blush tinging Jaskier’s cheeks that only darkens as he catches sight of the grinning cashier. Head ducking he continues to empty the cart onto the belt but doesn’t protest when Geralt adds the order divider, only moves his carefully picked yogurts to his side of the order.

o~O~o

“Why don’t you start unpacking the bags.” Geralt offers Jaskier. Though his cough was better, his lungs were still proving unhappy at even the slightest exertion, the latest coughing fit leaving Jaskier winded. Jaskier looks through the doors between the kitchen and garage where Geralt’s truck waits before reluctantly nodding, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to collapse before they even got to the cooking part of the day.

By the time Geralt carries the final bags in, Jaskier has emptied all the grocery bags, the nonperishable items lined up on the island, grouped by product while the cold items are tucked on the counter next to the fridge, Jaskier having debated how personal it was and decided on very. 

Geralt doesn’t seem phased to find his counters filled with groceries and stores what they won’t be using presently in the fridge before turning to Jaskier. “Want to wash vegetables?” 

Jaskier slips his rainbow jacket off, settling it across the back of a barstool before rolling up his sleeves. “Sure.” Jaskier’s tone gives Geralt pause and he tries not to laugh as Jaskier eyes the dish soap and hand soap lined up behind the sink.

“I’ll wash, you fill these with four cups of water each and medium heat.” Geralt frees him, retrieving two pots from the rack hanging over the island and directing Jaskier to the cabinet with the cooking utensils. 

They fall into an easy rhythm, Jaskier mostly watching Geralt cook for his part, admiring his skill with a knife as he deftly chops the vegetables, smiling softly when Jaskier sneaks morsels. Jaskier is grateful for something to do when Geralt sets out new tupperware meant for the freezer, volunteering to wash and dry them and soon he’s elbow deep in Geralt’s sink, pausing only when Geralt offers him a taste of the latest finished dish. 

Geralt plates up one of the dishes, setting it before Jaskier who’s sitting at the island, enjoying watching the dance that is Geralt cooking. “Getting to be lunch time.” Geralt comments as though he needs more of an excuse. 

Jaskier twists his fork in the noodles before him, tangling in flakes of ham and peas, the flavors bursting on his mouth, delicious in their unfamiliarity. He hums his pleasure, Geralt’s mouth curling into a grin as he divides the remainder into containers, trying to keep portions small enough Jaskier won’t feel overwhelmed when faced with them. 

Geralt lines them up on the counter next to the other already filled tupperware, lids off as they cool before starting to divide up the next meal; brown rice with finely shredded chicken and veggies. 

“I really appreciate you helping...well you doing this.” Jaskier says, taking another bite before regretfully setting his fork down, a sheepish, “I’m full.” when Geralt glances up. 

“Truly Jaskier, I’m happy to help. We can do this once a month if it works for you.” Geralt offers, adding another row to the containers. 

“I’d like that.” Jaskier hopes this could be their thing, even after he doesn’t _need_ to have each meal pre-sectioned it would be nice. “‘I’ll clean up.” Jaskier slips off the barstool, beginning to gather the various dishes scattered about the kitchen from where they’d been used last. 

“We’ll be reusing most of them for the next dishes, a quick rinse should be fine.” Geralt remarks over his shoulder, liking how normal, how _right_ , this feels. Jaskier in his kitchen, helping him cook and eating at his table.

Jaskier eyes the dozen containers waiting to be closed, realizing his mistake and trying not to let his panic show at the thought of his freezer being filled with these carefully labeled and prepared meals. “Right. _Right_ , we’ve still got to do yours for the month.” Jaskier laughs, trying to play it off, but the sharp crack of metal meeting countertop jerks Jaskier’s attention from the containers. Geralt standing disturbingly still as tears track silently down his face, the pot he’d been holding rolling to a stop against the counters ledge. 

Geralt’s fingers spasm against the cool countertop, needing something to hold onto, something to ground him. Jaskier is pinned in place by a memory he’d thought cold medicine induced, of Geralt hunched in his living room, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded with Jaskier to keep fighting. 

Jaskier watches as Geralt pulls himself back together, swiping away the tears as he rights the pot, voice rough and gentle as though he expects Jaskier to not have noticed his breakdown. “We’re just getting started, but if you want to go I can drop the rest by later.” 

"I didn't mean to scare you, I...thank you for not giving up on me." Jaskier trips over the words.

“I can’t lose you.” Geralt whispers the words like a prayer and with them Jaskier understands, Geralt didn’t expect _anything_ from Jaskier, he needed to do something, _anything_ to keep from losing him. 

Jaskier raises his hand, hesitating when a shiver runs through Geralt who is still visibly trying to collect himself and Yennefer’s words come back to him, _Geralt isn’t great with words._ Jaskier smooths his hand across Geralt’s back, feeling him tense under his touch before slowly easing into it and with a sharp pang Jaskier wonders when the last time Geralt was gifted with a gentle touch.

Nudging the container Geralt had just finished filling Jaskier catches his eye and with a smile he hasn’t felt the truth of in months tells him, “You’re ensuring you won’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Chapter 29, the Shopping Trip chapter that I was nervous about and you were all so kind and supportive of. I was so confused that 'resting biker face' had been cut but posted it figuring it was a tone issue or somesuch. And here we are, the *other* shopping chapter I had forgotten I wrote. Yay domestic angsty fluff! (Yay right?)
> 
> And yes, I am fully stretching the very definition of that Recovery tag. Maybe I should add a crying tag too.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Your comments brighten my...well my everything.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows Geralt is worried about him but knowing and believing are two exclusive things he’s working at marrying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back most marvelous of readers!   
> Please brace yourselves, this chapter may be a shock to your system with the heretofore unseen amount of fluff. 
> 
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose, she makes this fic what it is.

“If you’re not up for this–” Geralt offers, not for the first time. 

“I’m fine, really. The cough is nearly gone and I’m not even playing the back half of the set.” There’s no heat to Jaskier’s words, he knows Geralt is worried about him but knowing and believing are two exclusive things he’s working at marrying. 

Jaskier doesn’t look away from Geralt as he continues his warm-up by feel, knowing he wants to ask something the way he’s not quite lingering but can’t seem to gather the courage to, so Jaskier does it for him. Turning his attention back to his guitar, he focuses on making sure his fingers find the right chords as he says, “I ate before I came in. The parmesan noodles...they were really good.” He glances at Geralt, gauging his reaction only to find the anxiety that had been tightening his features since Jaskier arrived was gone.

“We’ll add it to our menu for next month.” Geralt says, practically beaming at Jaskier who rises, knowing all pretense of warming up is moot now.

The set is bittersweet, Jaskier can feel himself slipping in his last few songs, his voice starting to burn and he knows Geralt was right, he should have taken the weekend to heal more but he missed this, missed here, too much to stay away. But he knows it won’t be worth it if he ends up relapsing and missing Ciri’s birthday party tomorrow; knowing her, she would probably miss it and insist on coming to visit him instead. 

Jaskier makes it through his last song and for the first time since he’s started playing gigs he’s grateful it’s a short set, his mind drifting more towards his bed than the song he’s playing. 

Geralt is waiting for him at the bar with a small smoothie, golden eyes watching his approach, marking his tired gait and Jaskier knows he would be handed a ticket back to his apartment if he wasn't already headed there. Jaskier settles on his usual stool, trying to hide how good it feels to sit, Yennefer already studying him with a critical eye and he wonders if she still has a thermometer in her purse.

“Ciri excited about tomorrow?” Jaskier asks, hoping to deflect any inquiries about how _he’s_ feeling he takes a sip of smoothie.

“I’ll be lucky if she sleeps tonight. Girl knows when it opens and intends to be the first one through the door.” Yennefer rolls her eyes but there’s a fond turn to her lips. 

“If she’s still as taken with it in a few months you could sign her up for the summer camp, it’s only a couple weeks but it’s most of the day and the kids seem to love it.” Jaskier suggests. He loved working with the camp kids, they were always the die-hards who knew the museum as well as he did. 

“Don’t tell her that, I won’t hear about anything else until it starts.” Jaskier grins, he highly doubts she wouldn’t find out about it on her own with how much she loved the place. 

Jaskier appreciates they don’t ask how he’s doing, trusting him to voice when he needs help, though he’s fully aware they’re keeping an eye on him it’s the pretense that counts. As much as Jaskier wants to stay, even if it’s just sitting here sharing interrupted conversations as Yennefer mans the bar, his belly is full of smoothie and the siren call of his bed is growing stronger.

Scrubbing a hand down his face serves to do nothing to wake him up and with a groan he looks back at his guitar, seriously debating just leaving it for the night, knowing it will be safely stowed and he can get it after the party tomorrow. Geralt doesn’t miss his longing look or the resignation that follows on its heels.

“I’ve got it.” Geralt is standing before Jaskier’s mind makes the connection and he’s too late with his protest. 

“He won’t hurt your guitar.” Yennefer reassures him as Jaskier watches Geralt gently pluck his guitar from its stand, resting it in the case before snapping the clasps shut.

“He’s already done enough for me.” Jaskier explains and Yennefer gives him a look he can’t quite decipher but her eyes flick past his shoulder and he knows Geralt is returning. Bidding her a goodnight he slips from his own stool and turns.

“Thanks.” Jaskier says at the same time Geralt says, “I’ll walk you to your car.” The moment threatens to be awkward as Jaskier plays the words back, wondering if he heard correctly but Geralt making no move to hand over the case confirms his suspicions. 

“Right, ok, thanks.” Jaskier hopes the dim of the bar hides his burning cheeks as he threads his way towards the doors, belatedly wondering if maybe he was supposed to let Geralt go first. Jaskier is grateful when the cool night air washes over his heated cheeks, Geralt easily moving to keep pace beside him as they cross the parking lot to Jaskier’s car.

“You can park closer. Or even in back with us.” Geralt offers, concerned about Jaskier having tucked himself into one of the further spots, but grateful to see he at least made sure he was under a streetlight. 

“I’ll remember that. Thanks.” In truth, Jaskier hated leaving every night, had spent long minutes each night trying to scrape together enough courage to ask Geralt to see him out just in case Valdo was waiting, but he’d never managed to. 

Little did Jaskier know that every night he missed the shadow trailing him, Eskel most often but Lambert was known to take a turn, watching to make sure he got to his car and out of the lot safely. 

Jaskier lingers by his car, fear coiling in him that maybe Geralt had asked him out here so he could uninvite Jaskier to Ciri’s party, give him the decency of a one man audience but whatever words are crowding Geralt’s mouth get stuck as he offers Jaskier the guitar.

It’s the brush of cool fingers, easily curling over his as Jaskier takes the case that shivers the words loose. “Would you like to go to the Fall Festival with me?” 

Blue eyes snap to Geralt, blown wide with surprise but under the streetlight there’s no hiding the flush that colors his cheeks, “Yeah?” Jaskier can’t believe Geralt is asking him out for a _date_. 

“If you don’t–” Geralt starts and Jaskier realizes his disbelief manifested itself in his answer because of course it did.

“ _No!_ I mean, yes I’d really like to go.” Jaskier can’t help the grin that insists on growing wider, matching Geralt’s own. 

The sleep that had threatened to claim him all evening is absent from his bed as he lays there, turning over and over again Geralt asking him out.

o~O~o

“I thought Ciri was kidding when she asked if you went to the museum without her.” Jaskier says by way of greeting as he climbs into Geralt’s truck. Geralt just raises an eyebrow at him, surprised he remembers that conversation but it had also been the first time Jaskier had come to a Sunday dinner and the first time he’d thought Geralt was asking him out. On second thought, he wasn’t so surprised.

“I just mean...we don’t see a lot of bikers. Not really their scene.” Jaskier fumbles, frowning at his own words as he realizes his own insult but Geralt just huffs a laugh and guides the truck out of the parking lot, Eskel following behind with Lambert in his passenger seat, clutching a cup of coffee for dear life. 

Geralt has barely parked before Ciri is out of Yennefer’s car, insistent that they have to _go_ to the doors, as though the very idea of them being unlocked without her presence is a travesty. 

“Hey birthday girl, before we head in I think you’ll need this.” Jaskier holds out a white gift bag made to look like a unicorn’s face complete with glittery horn. Ciri happily accepts it and looks to Yennefer for permission to open it and with a nod she reaches past the rainbow paper poking out the top to pull out a shirt. 

To the others it looks like a vibrant purple shirt but Ciri squeals and launches herself at Jaskier, Geralt ready with a bracing hand on his shoulder. “Thank you! It’s my favoritest shirt.” 

Jaskier smiles down at her, pleased she’d liked it and hadn’t been disappointed to be given a shirt, a fear that had only occurred and grown after he’d acquired it. 

“Mommy, can I wear it? _Pleaaaase_?” Ciri begs. 

“Alright, into the car with you.” Yennefer says, opening the heavy passenger door for Ciri to scramble into the backseat, the tinted window masking all but shadowed movements. When she reappears, coat abandoned on the backseat in lieu of showing off her new shirt the others understand. 

It wasn’t just _any_ shirt, no, this was a Ciri-sized version of Jaskier’s museum work shirt, instead of Wrangler being written on the front, it was across her shoulder blades, in front right over her heart was her name in sparkly white script. 

“Was wondering if you guys were going to show up.” Triss teases, strolling up. 

“Triss! Look.” Ciri proudly shows off her shirt for Triss who admires it, appreciating the glittery letters as Ciri tells her it was from Jaskier with a seriousness that indicates Yennefer’s been trying to teach her manners on gifts.

All set, the group heads for the museum and true to her wish, Ciri is the first through the door, bouncing where she stands as they unlock the door. 

“You’re our Wrangler today, where do we start?” Yennefer asks Ciri who’s holding her hand, smile growing wider at the title bestowed upon her. Ciri thinks for a minute and Jaskier truly can’t guess where she’ll start them off since the rooftop is closed this time of year. 

“The Carousel!” Ciri crows and starts to lead them through the colorful aisles, less hallways and more mini-exhibits used to guide visitors around.

“Should’ve gotten a map.” Lambert grumbles from the back, not liking how turned around he’s becoming and they haven’t even reached the carousel yet.

“Actually, there are no maps, we don’t use them.” Jaskier’s words bring Lambert up short, a look of startled awe on his face. “She’s headed us in the right direction and if we get lost I can always get us back out.” 

“So what you’re saying is, hold onto you like we hold onto Ciri.” Triss teases, looping her arm through Jaskier’s who laughs at her antics, missing the longing glance Geralt gives them. 

True to its name the Carousel is indeed a classic carousel inside the museum, horses sized down for toddler to large enough for full grown bikers await them and Jaskier and Triss exchange a grin as the guys slow with the realization of what awaits them. 

“Hey, J!” The operator calls, a young guy with sandy blonde hair that looks like he stepped from the pages of a magazine. 

“Matt, did you know we have a birthday girl in our midst?” Jaskier says, tone mock serious and Ciri giggles. 

“Do you now? Well, if I may escort the madame it would be my honor for you to lead the ride today. What do you say?” Yennefer releases Ciri’s hand and with a look to Jaskier she follows Matt as he weaves his way through the horses to a beautiful white one, her silver bridle adorned with a rainbow of painted flowers. 

“She’s beautiful.” Ciri had eyed this horse whenever the carousel went round but had yet to manage to ride it herself. She looks to Jaskier expectantly, the horse not quite full sized but still large enough she can’t get on by herself, before Jaskier can make a move Geralt is there, easily settling her on the horse.

“Nuh-uh, come on, you get a horse of your own.” Jaskier says, tugging Geralt away by the wrist, the man coming mostly willingly. “Pick any you want.” Jaskier gestures to the near stable around them and Geralt selects a deep brown one, blue bridle and saddle with a coat of arms on a shield at her neck. Jaskier mounts the one next to his, a white one with a silvered mane and purple reins. 

Jaskier scans around, trying to spot the others and catches Triss talking to Matt, “I thought he was joking when he said he got asked out all the time working this ride.” Jaskier says more to himself but Geralt follows his gaze and huffs a laugh. 

Red hair streams out behind her as she threads through the horses, seeming to pick one at random between Ciri, Yennefer at her side, and Eskel and Lambert.

“Let the races begin!” Matt calls and Jaskier smiles, they’ll get at least one go around all to themselves before other families find their way back here. Ciri’s giggles reach them as the ride starts, the calliope music swelling as the ride creeps towards it’s top speed and all too late Jaskier realizes Triss wasn’t trying to pick up Matt, no she was giving him her phone and he was obviously getting amusement out of videoing bikers going round and round on pretty plastic horses. 

Jaskier looks to Geralt, wondering if he’s noticed they're being documented but Geralt is looking at him with something akin to fondness and Jaskier ducks his head, hiding the automatic smile that blooms.

Matt lets them go a few extra spins, slowing the ride when the other families start trickling in and lining up, Triss dashing back to claim her phone, sending the video off to the cloud before it can be “accidentally” erased.

Ciri doesn’t hesitate to lead the way, mind already set on where they’re headed next and Jaskier calls his thanks once more to Matt as they follow her out. 

“Is that…” Eskel asks, unable to believe what he’s seeing before him even though they just came from riding a full sized carousel inside a building. 

“A treehouse.” Jaskier says, nodding. What looks to be a tree grown up through the floor, the boards around it angled and jagged to look broken is only the start. All around it are fallen logs and ropes, steps and slats of wood that double as ladders to take you to different platforms 

Ciri wastes no time darting up the ladders onto the various platforms, playing out some fantasy conjured by her mind that only she can see. Yennefer keeps an eye on her, eyes scanning for where she’ll reappear when she slips into one of the hollow logs or circles around behind one of the platforms that spiral around the trunks. Her breath catches when Ciri appears several platforms up and swings on a thick rope across to an opposite tree, white hair streaming behind her. 

“Don’t worry, there’s a net just below, should she fall it’s maybe five feet.” Jaskier supplies but the flat look Yennefer gives him tells him any fall involving her daughter is from too high. 

“Like it so much you come on your days off now?” Jaskier turns at the voice, already smiling.

“Well, if it means getting to see you…” He teases and Macee just rolls her eyes.

“In front of your boyfriend, _scandalous_.” Macee winks as Jaskier splutters. “Still doing the looming thing, I like it.” Macee says eyeing Geralt as Eskel and Lambert snicker behind him. 

“Oh I like her.” Triss tells Yennefer. 

“Macee.” Geralt greets, her grin only widening. 

“Now say it slower.” Macee teases, voice suggestively low and Jaskier is torn between grateful Ciri isn't around to hear this and desperate for her to appear and end his misery. 

“ _Mace_.” Jaskier begs as Geralt just narrows his eyes at her and Jaskier thinks he may actually give in to her request, understanding or not, Jaskier wants only _his_ name said that way from Geralt. 

“Fine, fine. Take all my fun away. You know you’re the only one I want anyway.” She loops her arms about his waist, holding her own wrist she rests them on his hip, trapping him but he’s just grateful she’s more playful than protective, it had taken months of reassurance to convince her that the first night she met Geralt was just a fluke. 

“Ciri.” Yennefer’s tone is sharp, panic edging the name when she doesn’t spy her bright shirt against the forestry. “ _Cirilla_.” Ciri still doesn’t appear and Yennefer is growing visibly agitated.

Jaskier and Macee exchange a look, both saying, “Skateless Park,” as they nod, pinned by Yennefer’s attention.

“You can climb up a floor through the trunk and go to the Skateless Park, I’m sure that’s where she’s headed if she isn’t there already. I can go through if you guys want to head up.” Jaskier says it so casually, as though it were normal for him to be able to fit through the tunnels meant for children. 

“I do it all the time, really, it’s–” Jaskier shifts in Macee’s arms, misunderstanding the pained looks everyone but Macee is giving him. 

“Nuh-uh, I’ll go. She can’t be hard to miss in that purple shirt, you guys head up. Race you!” Macee rocks up to her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before she’s running towards the short rope fence that borders the tree, vaulting it before scampering up the ladder. 

“Really Yenn, she’s fine. If she’s not at the Skateless Park I’ll have them call a Code Yellow and the whole place will be looking for her.” Jaskier tries to reassure. Yennefer nods, Ciri knew better than to run off but she also probably didn’t consider they couldn’t follow her as easily and expected that they would trail after her as they often did. 

Jaskier leads them past attractions and exhibits with no rhyme or reason to their layout, it looks as though a child’s toybox of ideas was upturned and the exhibits were righted where they landed. 

“Were those vault doors?” Lambert asks as they pass bank-grade vault doors that had been donated.

“Forget doors, I think that’s a whale skeleton.” Eskel notes, looking at the entrance to the aquarium which was in fact the skull of a whale, mouth gaping open for visitors to walk through and into their body as they pass into the 180 aquariums. 

Jaskier knows Ciri is in the Skateless Park, but a small part of him can’t help but worry that she’s not, that they’ll find only Macee there and he might have wasted precious time to call the Code Yellow. His pace quickens without his realizing it and he can’t stand the wait of the elevator, so he takes them past the Bubble Terrarium and to the rainbow spiral staircase, leading them up and up and up, each step a different color as clouds fill the space closer to the ceiling. 

Glimpse of the Skateless Park can be caught through the gaps between train cars as they walk the length of it, slipping around the front engine he’s relieved to see Macee kneeling next to Ciri who’s admiring the friendship bracelet tied around her wrist courtesy of Jaskier.

Yennefer’s breath hitches, relief coursing through her and Ciri looks up, spying her family she grins, “Mommy! She’s wearing the bracelet I helped Julian make.” Yennefer’s smile is tight as she wars with correcting Ciri on her birthday and not letting her fear sharpen her words unnecessarily.

“Cirilla, what is our rule when we go out.” Yennefer asks, her tone level.

“That I stay in sight. Sorry mommy.” Ciri’s head hangs and Yennefer can’t stay mad with the relief coursing through her. 

“Apology accepted. No more running off.” She pulls Ciri in close, needing physical reassurance, lasting short moments before Ciri is squirming away, anxious to play. Yennefer lets her go and watches as she runs around the smooth bowls, momentum the only thing carrying her through. 

“I told you, no more tapping out on me.” Macee’s words draw their attention as she reaches in first one then another pocket, producing a fruit filled breakfast bar she holds out to Jaskier who looks washed out. 

“I’m–”

“If you say any variation of fine I’m breaking out the ribbon photos.” Macee challenges with a raised eyebrow. 

Shame washes over Geralt, he’d been so focused on finding Ciri, of reassuring Yennefer they would find her he’d missed Jaskier nearly passing out, hadn’t given a second thought to his harsh breaths as they climbed the stairs. 

Under watchful gazes Jaskier struggles to open the bar, his fingers slipping on the slick plastic wrapping and Geralt eases it from his hands, easily tearing it open and offering it to Jaskier who breaks off a small piece. 

“Sorry.” Jaskier stifles the rest of the apologies that threaten with the bite of bar, grateful it wasn’t one of the granola ones she’d carried for a while before she’d found him doubled over in pain after she’d forced one upon him. 

“You should be,” Macee starts, unknowingly attracting the wrath of three bikers and two equally scary bartenders down to herself. “You’re turning me into a boring vending machine, I had my snack pockets perfected. I gave up Skittles, _Skittles_ for you.” 

His mouth twitches but he can’t meet anyone’s eyes as Geralt holds out the bar again, encouraging a little more if he can manage. Jaskier breaks off another small piece, at this rate Geralt imagines it’ll take him an hour to eat the whole thing but he couldn’t care less if it meant getting much needed food into him.

“I guess my smoothie wore off a little faster than I anticipated.” Jaskier offers up, hoping they believe him, that they understand he’s trying and he didn’t mean to ruin this day for Ciri. 

“Some of us _actually_ work here at this blessed hour so I’m off. It was lovely meeting you all, do try to keep him away from the ball pit, it’s really meant for the children.” With a wink Macee is gone. 

Jaskier hates the somber tone that’s fallen over the morning, Ciri still happily running around the smooth bowl and sliding over the waved floor on a mat, her giggles carrying to them but eliciting the same smiles they did earlier.

“Sorry.” Jaskier whispers, hating how tears burn his eyes, that he can’t just beg off and go home because he rode with Geralt. 

“You’re sorry? I think I should be sorry, you literally worried yourself sick about Ciri and she’s not even your daughter.” Yennefer jokes, offering a soft smile. Jaskier takes the gift offered him and follows the group as they move over to one of the high tables set up alongside Skateless Park. 

Ciri convinces Yennefer to join her and even Triss gets out there, dragging Eskel and Lambert with her, snapping picture after picture of them as they whoosh down the largest of the waves, Ciri giggling and insisting they take her next. Geralt stays with Jaskier, watching their antics but also keeping an eye on the breakfast bar set before him, Jaskier eating the pieces he breaks off for the most part. 

“You can join them, I’ll be fine.” Jaskier offers but Geralt just shakes his head. “I’m right where I want to be.” 

When it’s nearing time Jaskier catches Yennefer’s eye and with a jerk of chin she nods, gathering Ciri and the others they reconvene. 

“We have to go already mommy?” Ciri asks, not quite pouting but her disappointment is clear. 

Yennefer looks to Jaskier, “We’re not leaving but I have another present for you but I couldn’t wrap it and I was hoping I could take you to it now?” Ciri is all too excited at this news, her small hand fitting into Jaskier’s and she’s ready to go. 

The pace is slower, easier as they take the elevator this time to the first floor, weaving through exhibits that look familiar but not where they were last seen and the group marvels at how easily Jaskier finds his way. 

“The Circus?” There’s trepidation in Ciri’s voice when she spies what lays ahead of them. Heavy curtains have been pinned back like tent flaps from a doorway, a marquee sign proudly proclaiming _The Circus._

“I promise this isn’t a normal circus, there are no clowns, this is a...dancing circus.” Jaskier tries to explain, not wanting to give the surprise away. Ciri stares at the dark doorway for a moment longer before she gives Jaskier another look and nods, trusting him. 

True to its name, the room beyond is circular, the floor a gleaming white, the small half wall separating the chairs from the center ring is pinstriped, but that’s not what draws their attention. The ceiling bows in, alternating swaths of black and white, easily two stories tall and seen from the upper floors should the right corner be found. And hanging from them is a woman in a black leotard, arms wrapped in a white ribbon, doing effortless somersaults. 

“Jay! And you must be Ciri.” The woman says, spying him on the ground, swaying where she’s still wrapped in the ribbon as though she were standing next to them.

“Hey Verity. Are we interrupting?” Jaskier asks, seemingly unphased by talking to a woman suspended fifteen feet in the air. 

“Nope.” With a twist of her feet Verity lets go of the ribbon and unravels down, ending up spinning upside down eye level, grasping the ribbon once more she fold-flips to the floor, her back to them upon landing. 

“Ciri, Verity here is going to teach you how to...do a version of that.” Jaskier isn’t quite sure how to explain it won’t be quite _that_ level but Verity assured him there are basic moves she can learn that will still be fun and safe.

Ciri is enamored with Verity and quickly sheds her shoes while Yennefer tucks in her shirt before Ciri pads with Verity to the ribbon. The rest take chairs around the room, watching as Ciri learns a few basic ribbon climbing moves and by the time the session is over Ciri has started mastering doing somersaults like she does on the parallel playground bars. 

“You know you could have shown her that yourself.” Verity comments as Ciri is slipping back on her shoes, the casual statement snapping everyone’s attention to them.

“No, I–”

“You know the basics and it’s low to the ground, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Verity continues, Jaskier growing redder by the moment. 

“I really appreciate you doing it.” Jaskier frantically tries to end the conversation before she can give them any more ideas for questions he doesn’t want to answer. 

Jaskier thinks he might be safe as he leads them back through the winding exhibits and towards the exit until Triss sidles up next to him and says, “So, when Macee mentioned ribbon pictures…?” 

o~O~o

“I know you like them but you have to sit down to eat.” Yennefer chides Ciri who is happily dancing around the White Wolf, enthralled with the light up sneakers Geralt had given her. Ciri scrambles up into her usual seat, seeing if tapping her heels together will trigger the lights. 

When Yennefer appears from the back a chorus of Happy Birthday starts, everyone joining in as she sets a cake before Ciri, a candle in the shape of 7 burning merrily on top. 

“Blow it out and make a wish.” Yennefer says and Ciri does, squinting her eyes shut as she focuses all her energy into wishing. 

“What’s this? No funfetti cake? It’s tradition.” Eskel says, mock aghast as he watches Yennefer cut up the angel food cake.

“I wanted a cake Julian could eat too.” Ciri beams at Jaskier who swallows thickly. He’d never considered Yennefer might have had to explain to Ciri what was making him sick, how to make sure she understood he wasn’t dying. 

“Thank you, Ciri.” Jaskier tries to keep the tears from his voice.

The cake is doled out, Yennefer making a face out of Ciri’s that sends her into a fit of giggles before she’s tearing apart her tasty treat. Jaskier’s piece is small and with just a few strawberries worth cut up but he manages to eat it all and just as Ciri thought his stomach hardly pains him. 

“Alright, say goodnight Ciri.” Yennefer says, Ciri had returned to hopping around, watching her shoes light up. Triss helps Yennefer collect Ciri’s presents as she works her way around, thanking everyone and saying her goodbyes. 

“Thank you again for changing your birthday cake Ciri. I promise next year we’ll be back to tradition.” Jaskier tells her when she gets to him. 

Ciri wraps her arms around him, her breath hot on his cheek as she whispers, “Don’t worry. Your tummy’s gonna get better. I wished for it.” She grins at him before darting to Yennefer’s side, catching her hand she waves goodnight with the other as though she hadn’t just gifted him a belief he’d yet to find in himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No need to scroll up, you did in fact read bikers riding a carousel (new tag anyone). This fic has *everything*. 
> 
> And look, I tried, I really did, to give you uncorrupted fluff. But it's me and I think I did fairly well considering the fluff to angst ratio when you consider how many words this chapter is?   
> I had so much fun writing this chapter and I would adore hearing your thoughts, be they positive or negative.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier shoves up from the table, chair legs echoing as they scrape across the floor, a casual reminder he’s alone, that his losing it won’t bother anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome lovely readers! I am just so honored that you've not only stuck with it this far but all your lovely comments have been brightening my week and I can't thank you enough for that.  
> For those of you who have been playing Tag Bingo we will be crossing another one off the card today so make sure you shout it out if you complete a row, four corner are also accepted.  
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this monster.

Jaskier’s kitchen becomes a battlefront. Knowing he should eat is harder than knowing he could eat but both are so much easier than accepting he is going to. 

Shame still burns through him at what the others must think, how disappointed they must be at wasting Witcher resources on him and nothing Geralt said had yet to so much as dent his conviction in this belief. 

The day stretches before Jaskier, a freedom he hadn’t had in months, now more curse than blessing, he could distantly recall a time he lived for days like these where he was free to compose but too many have passed for them to feel like freedom any longer. 

With his guitar and amp in the living room it seems nothing in his life is to be spared. He’d tried playing in the bedroom like he did when he was first learning, notebook pinned before him, slight weight barely denting the covers but no matter how he tried Valdo’s voice reminded him he was useless, wasting the day away in bed. 

“One action at a time.” Jaskier murmurs, dragging himself from bed as he repeats what Yennefer had told him like a prayer. Too many options waited for him once he was up but Valdo’s voice was still slithering around his mind and Jaskier was halfway through making the bed before he realized what he was doing.

Food then shower or shower then food. Neither was appealing but Jaskier knew it was better to shower before trying to eat, then he could at least pretend he was keeping himself together. Jaskier drags the shower out, one of the few times he feels completely warm, only when the water starts to cool does he step out into the humid bathroom, steam fogging the room around him. 

Dressing becomes a challenge against time itself. His long sleeved tee sticks to his damp body and he adds one of his old t-shirts over the top, more comfort than warmth as it’s worn nearly see through. His old jeans come next, forgoing a belt even though he knows he’ll spend the day holding them up he hates the way the stiff strap digs in when he sits. _Then maybe you shouldn’t be sitting._ Valdo’s voice chastises him. 

Jaskier tries to ignore it, he knows he could just buy a cloth belt or, better yet, new pants but since he quit JAC’s he’s been more conscious of saving his good clothes for work, needing to make it through the winter slump at the museum before even considering buying new clothes. Not to mention Christmas which is rapidly approaching. 

Jaskier pauses in his hallway, closing his eyes he takes deep breaths, trying to reign in his racing thoughts and though he manages to slow them a lingering anxiety twitches under his skin, a restless shifting he can’t settle.

Standing before his kitchen Jaskier eyes the rainbow tumbler Ciri gifted him, waiting like a sentry on the table, close enough to lure him in with its easy conquest. Clutching it Jaskier eyes the blender he’d insisted on paying for himself, a concession that felt too much like pity. 

Jaskier pulls ingredients from his fridge and lines them up, each settling heavier inside him as he goes. Spinach, bananas and whole milk, eyes flicking from the milk to the peanut butter and back again before he edges the jar out of the line and replaces it with strawberries. Better. Lighter.

He adds what he must, not what he wants, to the blender, trying to occupy his mind with what he’ll do after, how he’ll spend his day but again the vast nothingness spreads before him. Too many hours with too little needing to be done. Jaskier pours the smoothie into his rainbow cup, buying himself time he rinses the blender before sitting at the table, tumbler before him. 

Eating is always easier with others, with a distraction to pull his mind from the ingrained fear, the pain he expects but doesn’t come in his empty apartment. It’s only Wednesday, a fact that’s as much a victory as a defeat, he’s made it through two whole days of meals on his own, yet two and a half stretch between him and Friday night’s set. 

Pick it up.

Drink it. 

Just. One. Taste.

A

S

I

P

Jaskier shoves up from the table, chair legs echoing as they scrape across the floor, a casual reminder he’s alone, that his losing it won’t bother anyone. He paces before the table, _wanting_ to drink it but his throat closes up at the thought, threatening to drown him should he even attempt. 

With a shuddering breath Jaskier decides, he can do this. Probably. Just not _here_.

Jaskier debates at every stop light and turn, knowing this is what he needs, but fears giving into his weakness will cost him more than admitting to it.

He sits in the parking lot, eyeing the cup and willing himself to drink it, for this to be enough but close has never been enough. The cup feels heavier as he climbs out of his car and he debates leaving it but it’s the only offering he has, the only proof that he’s trying. 

“Hey Jaskier, are you–” Yennefer starts but it’s obvious by the white knuckle grip on the familiar tumbler that he’s not ok and Yennefer falls silent as Jaskier spares her no glance, arm wrapped around his stomach surreptitiously clutching his waistband. 

“I tried.” The whispered admission snaps Geralt’s head up from where he was bent over paperwork, Jaskier hovering in the door, his eyes looking anywhere but at Geralt. 

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” Geralt asks, the question earning Jaskier’s attention. 

“I wouldn’t....um,” Jaskier huffs a frustrated laugh at himself, his whole reason for being here was so _he_ could be interrupted. 

“It’ll be nice to have company.” Geralt finishes smoothly and Jaskier nods, still looking guilty but Geralt counts it as a win as the rambling didn’t fully kick in. “Grab us a table?” Jaskier nods again and heads back down the hall, Geralt eyeing his hunched posture as he follows, slipping behind the bar and into the kitchen. 

Jaskier defaults into an approximation of his usual spot at Sunday dinners, but it gets no easier to drink and the tumbler sits before him untouched and just as mocking as before. 

Geralt appears a few minutes later, smoothly replacing the tumbler with a hurricane glass, a pale pink smoothie within as well as a small plate of fried rice with spots of color from bits of egg, peas and carrots. Taking his own seat Geralt tucks into a salad topped with chunks of grilled chicken. 

Jaskier eyes the rice and the smoothie, knowing he’ll likely be unable to finish both, he takes a tentative bite of rice, such simple fare coming alive under Geralt’s skilled hands.

“The toy drive starts this week.” Geralt says.

“Toy drive?” Jaskier rolls his fork between his finger and thumb, waiting to see if his stomach will protest the rice.

“We take donations of toys for kids whose families need a little help. A week before Christmas we have a party and hand them out. Yennefer and Triss always have activities for the kids.” Geralt says, pausing to take a bite of his own meal.

“So it’s more of a Witcher thing and not a White Wolf thing.” Jaskier asks, taking a sip of smoothie and humming his surprise.

“Yeah,” Geralt huffs a laugh. “And, uh, triple berry.” 

“Hmm? Oh, it’s delicious.” Jaskier says, taking another bite of rice. Geralt tells him more about the toy drive and Christmas parties past. The year a blizzard struck the day of the party and they took to their trucks, delivering gifts to the houses, Triss insisting they wear Santa hats so they wouldn’t be mistaken for robbers.

“Please tell me there’s a picture.” Jaskier grins around the smoothie straw, whistling as it sucks only air. Geralt’s silence is telling and Jaskier knows he’s texting Triss later. Jaskier pushes the glass away, not realizing he’d finished it.

“About Saturday,” Geralt starts and Jaskier’s previously settled stomach starts twisting, the smoothie threatening to return. 

“I understand.” _This_ is the cost. 

Geralt frowns at Jaskier, the words so soft they’re little more than mouthed. “Understand what?” Geralt tries to keep his words from being sharp but there’s still a darkness tinging them. Blue eyes flicker up to his and there’s such _hurt_ in them it makes the breath catch in Geralt’s chest.

No matter how often he was forced to admit his faults it never got easier and Jaskier chastises himself for believing it would be any different with Geralt. “You don’t want to go with me.” 

Silence stretches between them, Jaskier’s stomach twisting painfully, pressing a hand to it he wills his misery to end with this shame and grace him with the dignity of getting ill once he’s back in his apartment. 

“I was going to ask if I might pick you up.” Geralt says slowly, each word measured with the utmost care. “I’m glad you came here...I know you’re trying.” Geralt doesn’t dare pull his eyes from Jaskier even as he sees Yennefer nodding behind him, a silent encouragement. 

“You still. You’d still…” Jaskier murmurs, disbelief clear.

“If you don’t want to, Jaskier, that's completely fine. It doesn’t change anything. You’ll still be under Witcher protection and–”

“Yes.” Jaskier blushed furiously. “I mean, I’d like to go and um...picking up.” Jaskier ducks his head, of course he would manage to ruin being re-asked out. 

“I’ll be at your apartment at 4:30?” Geralt asks.

“Sounds good.” Jaskier offers a smile, his cheeks burning.

“I look forward to it.” 

o~O~o

Jaskier smooths his shirt once more, having opted for the long sleeved blue one Yennefer said brought out his eyes and his nicer jeans, the only thing marring the outfit are his ratty Converse, they hadn’t been so bad but he’d had to add duct tape to the right toe this morning and the only pattern they had at the museum was lime green zebra print. 

With Geralt being here any minute it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it, in truth he’d fretted over it since it happened but he couldn’t bring himself to spend the money, not with Christmas so close; maybe after.

At promptly 4:30 there’s a knock at his door and Jaskier is already unlocking it before it occurs to him he might seem desperate, having been mere feet away in the living room but there’s nothing he can do now besides finish answering.

Geralt waits on the other side, hair pulled back in a half-pony and a deep forest green long sleeve Henley tucked into dark jeans, motorcycle boots completing the look. 

“You look nice.” Jaskier doesn’t mean the words to be anywhere other than his head but their unexpectedness garners a blush from Geralt.

“Thank you.” Geralt hesitates to compliment, not wanting it to seem like an automatic response. “Ready?” 

“Oh, yes. Right.” Jaskier says, turning he grabs his rainbow jacket from the back of the chair and pulls it on as he locks the door behind him, following Geralt out to his waiting truck. Jaskier blushes when Geralt opens his door for him, waiting until he’s seated within before closing the door and circling to his own side.

“How was work?” Geralt asks, glancing to Jaskier as he joins the traffic heading towards the park.

“Oh, you know, Macee got mistaken for a lost child by the new security guard so that was funny.” Jaskier laughs softly, remembering how shocked the guard had been to find Macee truly did work there and wasn’t a bratty kid. 

The park is already filling up when they arrive, Geralt manages to find a parking space close enough they won’t have to walk far to get a good view. Jaskier climbs out of the truck, scanning the hillside dotted with couples and families, instruments ready on the stage, just waiting for their musicians to walk on. 

Jaskier turns, looking for Geralt only to find him pulling things from the bed of his truck, arms already laden. “Need some help?” 

“Pick us a spot?” Geralt asks. Jaskier wants to protest, offer to carry something, but Geralt is waiting for him to go and the sooner he picks a place the sooner Geralt can set things down. The hill is a gentle slope, a natural amphitheater with the stage at the bottom and Jaskier goes a little ways down, close enough they’ll be able to hear the band more than the coming and goings of vehicles. 

“Good?” Jaskier asks but Geralt’s already setting his stuff down, plucking a plaid blanket he fans it out before adding another on top. Geralt settles himself on half the blanket and Jaskier tries to judge what exactly the right distance between them is supposed to be in the time it takes him to sit and hopes that a hand-breadth was right. 

Jaskier spies what looks to be a picnic basket on the other side of Geralt and his suspicions are confirmed when Geralt flips open the lid and begins lining up various containers before them. 

“Never took you for the picnic type.” Jaskier says as Geralt finishes with two plates and two forks, offering one of each to Jaskier before he starts opening the various tupperware.

“Ciri.” Geralt says, a fond smile pulling his lips. 

“Sure, blame the seven year old.” Jaskier teases, earning a laugh from Geralt. 

“You don’t have to eat, I just thought…” Geralt says, realizing how this may look, not having considered he might have already eaten. 

“No, I mean, it looks good. Thank you.” It’s clear Geralt packed this with him in mind, chunks of fresh fruit, slivers of cheese, a sleeve of crackers and something Jaskier can’t identify that looks like it might be chocolate pudding. Jaskier fiddles with his fork, watching the people around them while Geralt fills his plate, settling back with his legs stretched before him. Jaskier takes a few crackers, pairing them to cheese with a scoop of fruit, hesitating over the still unidentifiable food.

“It’s chocolate banana pudding.” Geralt offers casually eating a cheese cracker sandwich. Jaskier nods but still doesn’t take any. It sounded good, but he’d struggled so much with his sweet tooth and it’d been such an accomplishment when he gave up desserts, did he really want to throw that away?

Jaskier nibbles at his plate as the band mounts the stage and begins playing, an easy silence settling between them as they both enjoy the music and Jaskier finds his eyes drifting to the pudding again and again but he should finish what he’s taken. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Geralt says and Jaskier looks to him, eyebrows raised. “The band?” 

Geralt smiles, “No, the pudding. If you don’t like it I won’t be upset.” 

Jaskier hopes the dusk hides his burning cheeks, was his want so obvious? What Geralt must think of him eyeing food when they’re supposed to be enjoying music. “I should really finish this first.” 

Geralt eyes him before producing another small paper plate from the basket along with a spoon and scoops a considerable helping onto the fresh plate, trading it for his. Jaskier eyes him as Geralt helps himself to Jaskier’s cheese and crackers with a raised brow of his own. 

Only when Geralt turns his attention back to the band does Jaskier scoop a bite of the pudding up, knowing in that bite he’s going to be scraping the plate clean. The first band wraps up its set and Jaskier sets his plate aside long enough to clap as they leave the stage.

“They were good.” Geralt comments, Jaskier humming his agreement around his spoon, missing the smile that pulls at Geralt’s lips. The second band is well underway by the time Jaskier places his empty plate to the side, Geralt stacking their empty plates and returning the containers to the picnic basket. 

“That was delicious.” Jaskier admits.

“There’s more…” Geralt offers, reaching back towards the basket but Jaskier waves him off, “Best stop while I’m ahead.” 

Jaskier can’t help the shiver that slips under his open jacket, the cool autumn wind whipping up the hill as the third band takes the stage. Geralt drapes a blanket about Jaskier’s shoulders, automatically reaching up to keep it in place and he’s surprised to be met with soft fabric and not familiar leather.

Jaskier looks round to Geralt, brow furrowing, “Where’s your Witcher jacket?” 

“Left it at home,” Geralt shifts, “Wanted to look nice.” 

Jaskier frowns, “I like you as you are and that jacket is a part of you. If that’s the only thing you want to wear, then wear it.” 

“ _Only_?” Geralt teases, Jaskier’s cheeks burn as he realizes what he’s implied and Geralt fears he may have pushed too far.

“I’d like that...one day.” Jaskier murmurs, glancing at Geralt who ducks his head, catching the corner of his grin. Jaskier looks at Geralt from the corner of his eye before shifting closer, tucking himself into Geralt’s side when his arm settles around his shoulder. “This is nice.” Jaskier murmurs.

“Better than the other times?” Jaskier feels Geralt’s words rumble through his chest, taking a moment before he processes them, the drowsiness that had been claiming him disappearing as he jerks back, Geralt’s arm loose about his shoulders keeping him from falling back. 

“Other times?” Jaskier’s voice is strained as he stares at Geralt who just laughs and encourages him back into his side.

“You snuggle in your sleep.” Geralt tells him. Jaskier’s embarrassed whine drowned out by Geralt’s laugh.

o~O~o

“Thank you for tonight.” Jaskier says as Geralt walks him to his door. “I had a lot of fun.” 

“I’ll have to take you to the one they have in the spring.” Geralt says, Jaskier nearly entering the wrong door code at the promise of plans months from now. 

“I’d like that.” Jaskier tells him turning back to face Geralt, foot propping the door open behind him. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier.” Geralt says, a fond smile gracing his features as he turns to go. Jaskier catches his hand, pulling him back and before he can think better of it stretches up on his toes, pressing a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips before slipping through the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA-DA! 🙌 I give to you...ok a heaping amount of angst but then! "Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses-" Ok, we won't go there. Yet.  
> The eventual tag is now...in action? Moot? Eventualed?
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t be so distracting.” Geralt glances sideways at Jaskier, hoping his grin is enough to temper the words and it works as Jaskier sidles closer, looking mischievous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello most wonderous readers and welcome back! I can't thank you all enough for not only sticking with the story for this long but sharing your thoughts, they get me through my week and I adore hearing your reactions.  
> And a huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing and bouncing ideas!

Geralt already had enough to worry about today without keeping an eye on his phone in case Jaskier got lost on his way over. He was supposed to be cooking Thanksgiving dinner, the state of his kitchen could confirm that he’d started on it but Jaskier had texted him good morning and before Geralt could rethink his decision he had invited him over for breakfast under the guise of helping him cook.

At the sound of what Geralt thinks may be a car door closing he slides the skillet off the hot burner and heads for the front door, catching glimpses of Jaskier mounting the porch steps through the windows lining the front of his house, the chimes sounding as Jaskier rings the bell. Geralt leaves the door open behind him as he steps onto the sunporch, Jaskier looking nervous on the other side of the front door.

“Take it you found it ok?” Geralt asks by way of greeting as he opens the door. Geralt had wanted to offer to pick Jaskier up but he really couldn’t afford to leave the various items he was in the middle of cooking in their current states. 

“Wasn’t sure I had the right house at first,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “It looks different in the daylight. It’s really something.” Geralt’s house was nothing like anyone imagined when they heard bar owner or biker, much less met Geralt; not that many had ever seen his house. 

Running the length of his house was a glassed in sunporch, the slanting tin roof shading it from the worst of the sun and sounded lovely when it rained. Cream couches and chairs fill the space, worn and inviting, the view just as beautiful as that of the backyard. The drive winding back through the trees, the grass bright green and silky, the kind that only comes from sunlight filtered through trees, barefoot grass as Ciri likes to call it. 

Geralt steps back as Jaskier slips past before he whips around, stretching up his lips have barely ghosted over Geralt’s before he’s turning back, headed for the still open door and into the main part of the house. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt calls, wanting to ask if he’s always going to kiss and run but the look Jaskier gives him in the doorway to the house makes all the other questions unimportant as he returns a smile of his own. “Good morning.”

Returning to the kitchen Geralt plates up the ham and cheese omelettes he’d made, making sure he used finely shaved ham so Jaskier wouldn’t start the day hurting. Turning to get the bowl of fresh fruit from the fridge Geralt is paused by the sight of Jaskier, sans coat.

A royal blue sweater that fits him, hugging his tapered waist and grazing jeans that nearly fit, a belt still cinching them but the sides aren’t folded over. As beautiful as it is haunting.

Jaskier shifts uncomfortable and Geralt realizes he’s been staring. “Macee, she said I should look nice since it’s a holiday and all. She knows this really nice thrift shop....” Jaskier admits, cringing harder with each word.

“You look handsome.” Geralt offers, Jaskier looking pleased under his blush as he claims one of the barstools. Gathering some of his senses, Geralt sets the plates on the island and retrieves the fruit and juice from the fridge, adding fruit to what’s to be Jaskier’s plate before he sets it before him, glass following filled with juice.

“Yennefer wasn’t kidding when she said you would be up with the sun cooking.” Jaskier comments, spearing a piece of fruit. 

“Yennefer will bring dessert, Triss and Eskel a few sides.” Geralt shrugs, taking a bite of his omelette and is pleased when Jaskier does the same. If it takes him talking to get Jaskier to eat he’ll prove Yennefer wrong after all these years and find his words. 

“Oh cock, I was supposed to bring something wasn’t I?” Jaskier’s fork clatters against his plate and Geralt fears he’s going to slide from the stool as he digs in first one pocket then another, looking for his phone to check the group chat.

“We had it covered, I think Yenn insisted you and Lambert were just supposed to show up.” Geralt reassures and Jaskier abandons the search for his phone, knowing the only thing he could do at this point would be to drive into town and hope some store was open. 

“Please tell me my cooking hasn’t been so bad all these months I’ve been relegated to the no-food-contributions list with Lambert?” Jaskier asks, only half teasing as he takes another bite. 

“Not even close.” Geralt assures. They finish their breakfast with easy conversation mostly carried by Geralt who is all too happy to distract Jaskier and takes the empty plates before both of them as a sign of a good day ahead. 

“Alright. Are you a dishes at the end or as we go?” Jaskier asks, sliding off his stool and needing to move, needing something to distract his mind from tricking itself into phantom pains from eating. 

“Depends on what I’m making.” Geralt’s non-answer earns a frown from Jaskier. “As we go will work for today.” 

Jaskier smiles, gathering up their breakfast dishes he moves towards the sink. “That’s how my mom was, by the time she had dinner on the table you would never have guessed it had come from her kitchen.” There’s a soft smile to Jaskier, his mind somewhere else, somewhere kinder, before he seems to catch himself. With a slight shake of his head he turns on the water, staring to scrub the dishes as though their dirtiness personally offends him and Geralt watches briefly, at a loss if there’s any help to be given.

“What’s next?” Jaskier asks when the breakfast dishes have been scrubbed and are lined up in the drying rack. Geralt turns from where he’s keeping an eye on the butter melting in the skillet, deftly chopping celery and onion. 

“You don’t–” 

“None of that, I can cook.” Geralt doesn’t get his eyebrow halfway raised before Jaskier is correcting himself against Geralt. “Under guidance.” Geralt huffs a laugh at that.

“Want to peel us some potatoes?” Geralt nods to the stockpot further down the counter, a handheld peeler waiting next to it. 

“Peel ‘em and put ‘em back in the pot?” Jaskier asks, pushing up his sleeves before pulling out the first spud.

“Into the colander, we’ll rinse them first.” Geralt says and Jaskier nods but makes no motion to retrieve the colander hanging from the rack above his head. Geralt is pulled back to the butter, hissing in the skillet he adds the chopped veggies he’ll use in his stuffing. 

Geralt finally looks over his shoulder when the dull thud of a potato bouncing across the counter sounds for the third time only to be met with a sight that’s hard to keep from laughing at. Jaskier has managed to sliver off two jagged scraps of peel, each swipe of the peeler making Geralt fearful for the fate of Jaskier’s fingers until his tight grip sends the potato bouncing across the counter. 

Setting the skillet to the side, Geralt switches the burner off before turning to Jaskier, "Have you ever peeled potatoes before?" 

Jaskier hunches under the question, _I can be useful_ gated behind his teeth. "Been a while." Years, back when his mom could still cook.

“It’s going to be hard to play guitar missing your fingertips.” Geralt teases, wanting to chase the haunted look from Jaskier's eyes and it works as the corner of Jaskier's mouth twitches up. "I'll peel, you cut and rinse?" Jaskier nods, absently passing over the peeler as Geralt picks up the potato, deftly skimming the peel off before setting the potato to the side and reaching for the next. 

“Oh.” Jaskier’s eyebrows are near his hairline, the pile of potatoes growing before Geralt, easily surpassing what he’d managed. Geralt fumbles the potato he’s holding, nearly taking a chunk of thumb with it. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be so distracting.” Geralt glances sideways at Jaskier, hoping his grin is enough to temper the words and it works as Jaskier sidles closer, looking mischievous.

“No distractions, got it. Just going to get the strainer.” Jaskier’s arm snakes around Geralt’s waist, fingertips barely grazing the counter on his other side as he stretches up, his front pressed into Geralt’s side who is holding very still, lifting the colander off the hanging rack. 

Geralt turns his head, Jaskier still stretched up is nearly eye level with him and he wants to close the distance between them but the feel of Jaskier’s arm around his waist, still pressed flush, blue eyes studying him with an understanding that makes him feel safely exposed, holds him in place. 

The many fears Geralt has tangle together, what Jaskier would think if he doesn't kiss him, what he would think if he does, it’s only a matter of time before he sees...and then he’ll leave so does it really matter? As though Jaskier can read Geralt’s thoughts his head tilts, understanding softening his mischievous smile. 

Jaskier steps back, leaving Geralt with a coldness he hasn’t felt in years and takes place next to him, close enough they’ll be nudging each other with every move. 

Geralt falls upon the pile of potatoes, trying not to think about the hand on his waist, holding him in place as Jaskier reaches around him to select a knife from the block, taking his time as he looks them over. The way Jaskier purposefully reaches for whatever potato he’s setting down, cold fingers only fueling the heat pooling low in his belly. 

The final potato is peeled in record time, taking more potato with each swipe as Geralt’s mind trips ahead, scrambling to think what he can make next that would put distance between them before he does something irreparable, but a delicate hand is over his once more and this time it’s not letting go. 

Geralt turns, meaning to ask if Jaskier needs anything only to find blue eyes peering up at him, a mirror of his own; Jaskier needs this, _wants_ this as much as he does. 

Ducking his head this close Geralt catches hints of Jaskier’s cologne, floral but fitting, his lips sweet as they part against Geralt’s but he has enough mind to know not now, not today. He doesn’t dare put his hands on Jaskier’s waist, doesn’t cage him in but his body is traitorous as his hand ghosts up Jaskier’s bare arm, making his breath shiver. 

Pulling back, blue eyes blown wide peer up at him, “Good morning, Jaskier.” 

o~O~o

He looks happy.” Yennefer remarks, glancing back at Jaskier who had found excuse after excuse to busy himself with until he was the last one in line to get food. 

“It’s been one of his good days.” Geralt hates that they differentiate, everyday he’s trying and to Geralt that makes _every day_ a good day. 

“He was appalled when I added avocados to the chocolate pudding.” Geralt laughs as he tells Yennefer, recalling how shocked Jaskier was to learn so many of the things Geralt cooked had been tweaked to healthy but were no less delicious for it. 

Geralt tries to keep the disappointment from his face when Jaskier sits beside him, his serving paltry when he’d been comfortably sneaking bites all morning long. Yennefer catches Geralt’s eye, his words echoing in the look but he doesn’t understand either. 

They start the game, Ciri, having become obsessed with Catan Junior since they played one Sunday, had begged to bring it along and play today. Geralt’s kitchen table is filled with a gameboard, drinks and plates tucked around the edges as everyone sets to strategizing. 

It’s only as Geralt is returning to his seat does he realizes he’s filled half his plate with things Jaskier could easily pick at. Settling back in his chair he’s met with a devilish grin from Jaskier and finds the Ghost Captain has been placed on one of his lairs. Geralt sighs through his nose, pretending to be annoyed, Jaskier’s laugh momentarily making him forget about his concerns. 

He takes his turn and passes the dice to Lambert, settling the plate between them he wills Jaskier to reach over and steal a bite as he’d done all morning, offering only a cheeky grin when Geralt looks at him. Though his eyes flick to the plate he makes no move and two turns around the board later Geralt nudges the plate towards him, drawing Jaskier’s attention he does it again, believing his intent to be lost but out of the corner of his eye he catches Jaskier’s hand retreating to his mouth. 

Geralt sees a look in Yennefer’s eyes that warns she’s trying something for better or worse, determination will see her through. 

“These are best when warm.” Yennefer says, smoothly setting a filled plate on top of Jaskier’s empty one. Ciri had “taught” him how to make them upon their arrival, proudly showing Geralt she remembered from when he’d shown her. It was easy enough, roll out a can of croissants, slathering the dough in mashed potatoes and adding scraps of turkey before rolling them back up and baking. 

“We mades them.” Ciri happily reminds him, still working on her own. It takes the better rest of the first game and partially into the next before his plate is empty once more. 

Dessert is eventually sought, Catan having given way to Sequence and then a calculated retreat to the living room before another game could be started, none wanting the day to end but it had started winding down nonetheless. 

Ciri giggles when Jaskier loudly whispers his warning of there being avocados in the chocolate banana pudding but she doesn’t believe him and he doesn’t rise from his seat on the couch beside Geralt to get a plate of his own.

“The only veggie in this is pumpkin.” Eskel teases as he hands Jaskier a small plate with a slice of pumpkin roll on it before settling in the chair and tucking into his own. 

Jaskier makes it most of the way through the dessert, listening to Yennefer and Triss finalize their plan of attack for black Friday shopping, Eskel and Lambert grumbling about the crowds but they wouldn’t dare let them go out without their protection. It’s a gentle elbow, once...twice in the ribs that pulls Geralt’s attention to Jaskier who is offering his plate, dessert half finished. Geralt stacks it on his, easily finishing the dessert as the conversation moves on to which car and how many they need to take. 

“Nope, you two relax, we’re on kitchen duty.” Yennefer interrupts when Jaskier pushes up from the couch, having stacked the dirty dishes. Triss and Ciri are the only ones that don’t audibly groan at the announcement and Jaskier falters for a moment, seeming unsure about what to do now that he’s been excused and with a shrug more to himself he heads for the kitchen, the others following. 

Ciri retrieves the stool Geralt keeps for her from the laundry room, proudly declaring drying duty for herself as the others set about packing away the leftovers, all keeping a surreptitious eye on Jaskier. Having discarded the dishes by the sink he fills a glass with water, taking only a few sips before he’s wincing and abandoning the glass by the sink. 

Ciri misses the looks exchanged among the adults, too busy spreading out towels for the dishes to be put on so she can dry. The leftovers are forgotten as Yennefer pads to the doorway, tracking Jaskier who drops back into his spot on the couch next to Geralt with a groan.

“I ate too much.” Jaskier murmurs, causing Geralt’s heart to sink. He’d feared this would happen, a holiday revolving around food and though they tried to divert the focus with games like they do on Sundays it seems it still wasn’t enough. 

“Mmph.” Jaskier’s pained noise draws Geralt’s attention to the hand pressed against Jaskier’s stomach, the softest curve of his belly rounding against his sweater. He ate too much because he’s full. 

Geralt’s hand twitches where it rests on his leg, the understanding so relieving he doesn’t let fears of how this could go wrong take this moment and he cautiously replaces Jaskier’s hand with his, gently rubbing. 

Jaskier stiffens at first but soon sighs, settling into the touch he leans harder into Geralt’s side, head resting on his shoulder. “Feels nice.” The words are slurred as sleep claims him. 

“Ah, the dreaded food baby.” Triss grins, returning to packing away the leftovers. 

“He hardly ate.” Lambert gives one last concerned look at the couple before leaning against the counter behind Triss.

“But it’s more than he’s been able to handle in a long while.” Yennefer says, gently reminding them of their victory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2.5 kisses in one chapter *and* cuddles *and* found family holiday time. I'm just gonna go ahead and brush the fluff off you, don't want to be trailing that all day.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good week!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt glances to Yennefer, unsure if he should press or continue to let Jaskier struggle, he didn’t know how crucial it was for this battle to be won. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back loveliest of readers! I hope everyone had a good week!   
> I can't thank you all enough for reading this and another thanks for sharing your thoughts, I get giddy hearing your reactions to chapters.   
> Huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing, this would be a mess without her.

“Are you sure you want to subject yourself to this?” Yennefer asks as she sets the homemade chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes before him. Jaskier eyes it, wishing it were a smoothie, smoothies were easier on days like these but this was already made for him and he wasn’t about to add wasteful to his list of shortcomings. 

“I don’t want to intrude on tradition.” Jaskier says, forcing himself to take the smallest bite, the flavor he knows should be there tastes like failure instead and he forces himself to swallow. 

“You’re one of us.” Yennefer says at the same time Geralt argues, “You’re not intruding.” The latter noting Jaskier’s pinched expression. 

“Ciri hasn’t stopped talking about it all week. She even put a countdown app on my phone. It’s cookie themed.” Yennefer rolls her eyes fondly.

The invite to join in the cookie making for the Toy Drive came as most of his invites seemed to, with Geralt inviting followed by Ciri already excited and expecting he will attend. Truthfully, Jaskier was excited to join them, it sounded like fun and Ciri had been so happy when he’d agreed, but now that it was the night before Jaskier feared a Bad Day was imminent and would ruin it. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know until the morning what the day would bring 

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it.” Geralt’s voice is low, meant only for Jaskier who choked trying to force the next bite down. Frustration wells inside him, closing his throat even more, he can do this, the food is _right there_ and he _knows_ it will taste good since Geralt made it. 

“It’s fine.” Jaskier says, picking up the dropped nugget. Geralt had baked them so they weren’t greasy but it didn’t matter, they caught in Jaskier’s throat all the same, the mashed potatoes acting as glue. Geralt glances to Yennefer, unsure if he should press or continue to let Jaskier struggle, he didn’t know how crucial it was for this battle to be won. 

Yennefer looks as torn as he does, studying Jaskier as though she could read the answer on him. Yennefer says something to Triss Geralt doesn’t catch before she disappears into the kitchen. Jaskier takes sips of water, hand slipping down to pinch the softness at his waist as tears burn his eyes. He knows he needs to eat and he should eat and why did _this_ have to happen here?

Jaskier is pulled from his thoughts by a hand slipping into his, easing it away from his abused stomach and Jaskier can’t bring himself to meet the golden eyes looking at him with such concern. With his other hand Geralt takes the plate from before Jaskier and sets it to the side, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his palm.

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier murmurs, knowing he should reclaim his hand, excuse himself and go back to the apartment where he can wrap himself in his music note blanket and hope tomorrow is kinder to him. But he can’t bring himself to pull away from Geralt, from the comfort he knows he doesn’t deserve but so desperately craves. 

“I’m proud of you.” Jaskier’s head snaps up at the words, disbelief clear as he tries to make sense of what he’s certain he’s misheard. “You’re trying.” Geralt says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as though it’s something worth recognizing. 

The dull clink of glass meeting wood pulls Jaskier’s attention and he finds Yennefer setting a tall glass before him, a purple smoothie within. “Sorry.” Jaskier can’t bring himself to pull it closer, to take a sip even though he knows he should so he’s not even _more_ wasteful. 

Geralt stands from the stool and Jaskier’s breathing hitches, this is it, he knew it would happen, knew it was only a matter of time before he was too big of a burden and Geralt would leave him shortly followed by everyone else. 

“C’mon, Jask.” Geralt is still holding his hand, gently tugging him up, Jaskier swallows back the meager dinner he managed to choke down when it threatens to rise. Geralt was escorting him out, giving him the decency of privacy though maybe it was his own, wouldn’t do for the bar owner to be seen making a worker cry. 

Jaskier slips from the stool, head still hanging, he doesn’t want the last memory of Geralt looking at him to be one filled with disgust. He reasons he can keep his head down until they’re in the parking lot, assure Geralt he understands and head for his car, if he does it quick enough, well enough, he won’t ever have to look up. 

He can do this.

Geralt leads them down the hall and Jaskier nods, of course Geralt wouldn’t do it in the customer parking lot but Jaskier is surprised when Geralt pulls him into the office, shutting the door behind them with an elbow and only then does he notice the smoothie. 

Hope wars with panic in Jaskier as Geralt sits on the couch, their hands still tethering them together as he peers up at Jaskier. “I’m sorry.” Jaskier whispers, hating that Geralt looks at him with such care. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Geralt reassures, smoothie balanced on his knee.

“I’m wasting food and–and I shouldn’t be like _this_.” Jaskier sighs, frustrated. He still doesn’t know how to explain the way things get twisted in his head, how he knows what he’s supposed to do and what everyone wants him to do but it’s so hard to make those agree with what he can bring himself to do. 

“You’re not wasting food.” Geralt argues calmly, still looking at Jaskier with such understanding it hurts.

“I couldn’t finish it. It’ll be thrown away.” Jaskier argues automatically, wishing he could go as much as he wants to stay.

“You ate some, what you did eat will nourish you. That’s not a waste.” Jaskier tries to find flaws in the logic but he can’t or maybe he doesn’t want to, it’s hard to tell anymore. Geralt tugs on his hand and Jaskier lets the motion pull him down until he’s sitting next to Geralt, the arm around him tucking him in closer. 

“Are you hungry?” Geralt asks and Jaskier knows, he’s not sure how he does, but he knows if he says no Geralt won’t make him drink the smoothie, would just hold him while he drank it himself. 

“Yes.” The admission feels wrong but he knows it would be worse to lie. Jaskier holds out his hand for the smoothie, surprised when Geralt doesn’t pass it over immediately.

“You don’t have to drink this. Anything you want, it’s yours.” Geralt reminds him gently.

“This, I want this.” Jaskier admits, glancing up at Geralt who smiles fondly, pressing a kiss to his head as he passes over the glass. Geralt doesn’t care that it takes Jaskier the better part of an hour to finish the smoothie, that he has to dredge up stories he never thought he’d tell to keep Jaskier’s mind from twisting back on itself. 

o~O~o

If anyone stepped into the White Wolf as it was they would never guess it moonlighted as a biker bar. Classic rock plays, a row of decidedly bare tables divides the room, half the tables blanketed by cheery Christmas wrapping paper while the other half contain cookies in various states of decoration. 

Triss and Yennefer work with scary efficiency wrapping the presents, gift bags nowhere to be seen as scissors and tape are exchanged with wordless requests, Lambert and Eskel bagging the cookies that have been cooled and icing set. 

“So, why don’t the kids do this as an activity?” Jaskier asks, everyone but Ciri slowing to a stop as they look at him, grins growing as eyes shift to a stony Geralt. 

“Yes, why _don’t_ we do this as an activity anymore?” Triss teases. Geralt eyes her but says nothing as he returns to dipping alternate halves of raw cookie into red and green baking sugar. 

“Your hair was only stained for a few days.” Eskel offers.

“A week. _Tops._ ” Yennefer’s laugh can’t be contained as Jaskier looks from the bright red icing Ciri is not so carefully smearing across the sugar cookies she’d been let loose on to Geralt’s white hair, Yennefer’s insistence on tying Ciri’s hair back before she started falling under new light. 

“No…?” A laugh creeps into Jaskier’s question as he watches Geralt’s focus on the raw cookie dough intensify, as though speed will save him from the impending story telling.

“ _Yes_.” Yennefer chuckles. “It was my first year helping with the toy drive so Ciri was...what two? Three, maybe. I thought it would be fun if the kids could decorate cookies before meeting Santa.” Yennefer has to pause, laughing too hard at the memory of what happened. Ciri beams as she offers Jaskier her latest creation, it's tastier than it looks though the sheer amount of icing on it is a little too sweet even for him. 

“I didn’t count on the icing staining.” Yennefer says once she composes herself enough. “Ciri was covered in icing and that was before Geralt knew to tie his hair back around her.”

“You had to wash your hair in the sink so you could put your helmet on.” Eskel cuts in, Geralt’s cheeks growing redder as the story goes.

“He looked like one of those white Christmas trees with the pastel lights, splotches of red and green.” Lambert is near tears he’s laughing so hard, all attempts at packaging cookies abandoned. 

“Sorry, Pama.” Ciri says, looking over at Geralt with her big grey eyes but he just smiles at her, clearly fighting the urge to go to her. 

“It’s ok, little cub.” Ciri beams at Geralt’s words, turning back to her tray of cookies, the number of un-iced ones decreasing rapidly. 

Jaskier trails Geralt into the kitchen, admiring his unguarded boyfriend as he transfers the cooled cookies to fresh trays. Slipping up behind him, Jaskier slides his arm around Geralt’s waist, leaving it there as he stands beside him, snagging one of the cookies from the tray. 

“Hello, Jaskier.” Geralt smiles at him, pleased to see him sneaking cookies, the doubts that had plagued him last night seeming to have burned away in the light of day. Geralt tries to contain himself, focusing on getting the cooled cookies moved for Eskel and Lambert to bag, but Jaskier’s hand slips lower, slotting itself in his back pocket as though it belonged there. 

Geralt turns, Jaskier’s hand forced free but he’s not deterred as he pops the last of his cookie in his mouth, grinning as he wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, a hand in each back-pocket. The scent of fresh cookies mingles with the flowery scent that is uniquely Jaskier as blue eyes meet gold. “Hello, Geralt.” 

Jaskier’s lips taste sweet, like cookies and icing, his lips parting against Geralt’s as his tongue teases along his lip. 

Geralt’s hands are loose on Jaskier’s waist, distracted by the slightest softness over his hips, where once was skin stretched over bone, his lips part to Jaskier’s teasing tongue. He tastes sweet, like cookies and icing and Geralt can’t stop himself from tugging Jaskier closer, from tightening his grip the slightest bit, needing to ensure his mind isn’t playing wishful tricks. 

“Uhh-hmm.” Jaskier laughs against Geralt’s lips, dropping back he doesn’t make any motion to pull away. With a raised eyebrow Yennefer steps around them, picking up the tray of cookies she turns to leave as Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s chest. 

Only at the sound of the swinging door whooshing shut behind her does Jaskier speak. “I feel like a teenager.” His words are muffled and he feels Geralt’s laugh rumble through his chest. 

“We were caught by a mom.” Jaskier groans, leaning back he meets Geralt’s eyes as they have the same startling thought, it could’ve been Ciri. As though the universe wanted to ensure they didn’t get any more ideas the timer for the cookies goes off and with a fresh blush staining his cheeks Jaskier reluctantly extricates himself from Geralt. 

Stepping back into the bar feels more like a walk of shame than Jaskier’s ever experienced, clearly their absence was noted even without Yennefer sharing the details. 

“Santa’s little helper getting a little practice in?” Lambert smirks.

“Stop tainting Santa.” Yennefer scolds, though she’s grinning and Jaskier retreats to Ciri, the only one who isn’t giving him knowing looks. She’s finishing her final icing creation, what might be a Christmas tree or a holly leaf, Jaskier isn’t sure and knows better than to take a guess. 

“I’s made you this one.” Ciri excitedly points to one with a wiggly candy can on it, the striping more or less even.

“Oh, a candy cane. Very nice.” Jaskier knows he’s wrong at the frown on Ciri’s face.

“It’s a J. For _Julian_.” The duh is implied in the tone.

“Of course, I was just admiring how you designed my letter after a candy cane.” Jaskier covers smoothly, Ciri’s grin widening at the new perspective. Jaskier escorts Ciri to the sink, working the taps lest they be stained red, so she can wash her hands, before carefully transferring her masterpieces to a plate so they can clean the table. 

By the time they return Geralt has joined the corner table, doling out cookies into festive bags. Jaskier looks around for how he can help, the sugar from too many cookies and not enough real food thrumming through him as Baba O'Riley starts playing. Ciri comes running under the flip-up counter, clearly riding her own sugar rush and Jaskier catches her hand as she streaks by, pulling her into a spin, white hair streaming behind her. 

Jaskier slows her to a stop, offering his other hand he leads Ciri in a simple box step, broken by twirls when her giggles have finally tapered off from the previous one. As one song winds down and the next starts Jaskier catches Geralt watching him, white head ducking as though they hadn’t just been making out in the kitchen minutes before. Jaskier weighs his odds of getting Geralt on the floor, knowing he would follow if Jaskier beckoned but he doesn’t want to press, something telling him Geralt wouldn’t be comfortable, not in this moment. 

The closing bars fade out and Girls Just Want to Have Fun ratchets up. “This one’s all yours.” Jaskier says, spinning Ciri out one final time towards Yennefer who’s there with steadying hands. 

“Mommy!” Ciri grins up at her and Yennefer lets Ciri guide her through coordinated flailing, their laughter filling the bar as Triss snaps pictures. 

Jaskier drifts towards Geralt without realizing it, an arm around his waist drawing his attention from the girls to find Geralt smiling up at him. There’s a hesitation in Jaskier’s movement, a fear flaring in his eyes that Geralt can’t place as Jaskier shifts towards him, finally letting Geralt encourage him down.

Geralt doubts he would notice the slight weight in his lap if not for his arm about Jaskier’s waist, as it is Jaskier’s entire body is tensed, practically quivering and Geralt realizes Jaskier is trying to hold himself up. “Relax Jaskier, I’ve got you.” The words a caress Jaskier’s body settles into, though the weight is still barely there, the trembling has stopped and Geralt can finally feel him. Jaskier leans back against Geralt’s chest as they watch Triss get pulled into the dance, Ciri and Yennefer each grabbing a hand as Cyndi Lauper encourages them. 

o~O~o

Jaskier was practicing his set for the afternoon when a mysterious text from Yennefer telling him to show up, _now,_ saw him off to city hall where they were holding the Toy Drive. 

Triss is waiting for him inside the front doors of City Hall, hissing him into silence when he tries to ask what’s going on, her hand clamping around his wrist as she pulls him down the hall. Peeking into a room before she pulls back and faces him with a grin that makes Jaskier equal parts nervous and excited before she shoos him closer to take a look for himself. 

Geralt is sitting in a chair, bright red velvet pants tucked under a white t-shirt stretched over a pillow rounded belly, but none of it compared to the pale pink rollers pinned up in his hair. 

“Yennefer.” Geralt growls, slowly turning to look at her, the curlers swaying. 

“Just a few more minutes and they’ll set, don’t want to have to do this over again.” Yennefer says absently, tapping something out on her phone, moments later Jaskier’s sounding in his pocket, drawing their attention.

“ _Yennefer_.” Geralt growls. Jaskier is quick across the room, slipping into Geralt’s lap his grin widens

“Santa, am I on the naughty list?” There’s a mischievous lilt to Jaskier’s words that has Geralt blushing. 

“Great, now Santa’s got his rosy cheeks, you can play reindeer games later.” Yennefer shoos Jaskier out of Geralt’s lap to finish getting him ready. 

Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever going to stop grinning, at least not while Geralt is dressed up like Santa, Ciri at his side dressed as an elf. 

“Come on, Yenn says break time.” Triss tells Jaskier, pulling him from the small stage where he’d been playing Christmas songs. He follows Triss as she weaves through the tables, alternating red and green tablecloths, most empty as the families are off playing games or waiting to visit with Santa.

“You weren’t supposed to like it.” Lambert complains, eyeing the ugly Christmas sweater they’d given Jaskier as a joke, surprised when he’d shown up in it. 

“What can I say? You have good taste.” Lambert rolls his eyes as Eskel laughs, passing Jaskier a small plate of real food from the buffet line, knowing it was unlikely Jaskier would brave it on his own. Jaskier murmurs his thanks as he nibbles at it, watching the room around him.

Yennefer is running pin the nose on Rudolph, Triss having retreated to her setup for face painting. Some of the bikers are easy to spot, their heavy boots a giveaway or a t-shirt with their group’s name across the back in lieu of their jacket. Others Jaskier recognizes from the White Wolf, their faces more familiar than their names. Jaskier marvels, not for the first time, at the families around him, at what he accidentally became a part of and couldn’t imagine his life without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make up for starting you out with such angst and I mean, Geralt as Santa, I can't stop giggling. 
> 
> I'm so very excited to share with you these next few chapters but it also makes me so sad as we're coming to a close.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s meant to be light, a casual observation that slips from his tongue before he can think better of it, but the pain of that night, the long months that have yet to see things healed, is still too heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I have been so excited to share this chapter with you and now it's here!  
> I can't thank you enough for sticking with this. Your comments/kudos have brightened my days.  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for all her awesome beta and idea bouncing she does.

Jaskier eyes the organized chaos his living room has become, wrapping paper and gifts he’d carefully collected over the past few weeks. He’d finally gotten everything wrapped, Triss’ instacamera and Ciri’s rainbow tye-dye guitar strap, Lambert’s whiskey, Yennefer and Eskel’s certificates all that was left was Geralt’s. It had been _the_ one, Jaskier knew as soon as he saw it, but now sitting on his coffee table, he was starting to doubt it. What would Geralt think? 

As though he was summoned by the very thought of his name Jaskier’s phone lights up, Geralt’s name flashing across the screen.

“Geralt.” Jaskier answers by way of greeting.

“Jaskier.” A silence follows that Jaskier’s grown used to, Geralt even more awkward on the phone than in person. “I’m not...interrupting?” Jaskier smiles even though Geralt can’t see it, always so formal.

“Not all all. Just finishing up wrapping presents.” 

“Oh.” The silence that ensues feels different and Jaskier’s grin falters. “Would you like to come over? I’ll make dinner?” It was barely noon on Christmas Eve and Jaskier was sure Geralt had been up for hours already, preparing for tomorrow. 

“I’d like that.” With his voice in his ear, Geralt’s gift looks less pitiful and Jaskier thinks, _hopes_ , maybe it’ll be ok. 

“You’re welcome to come over whenever you’re done...wrapping presents.” Jaskier’s grin widens, even with Geralt being weird about presents he wants him over. 

o~O~o

The drive out to Geralt’s is beautiful if a little haunting, the already cloudy sky darkening and the once lush trees that line his drive, now bare, allow Jaskier to admire his house as he drives up. Jaskier doesn’t know if Geralt was watching for him or if the crunch of gravel gave him away but Geralt appears in the outer door as Jaskier climbs from his car, the crisp winter wind whipping his coat open. Jaskier drinks in the sight of his boyfriend, the black jeans that seem to be part of his every outfit, a charcoal grey sweater clinging in all the right places. 

When he’s close enough Jaskier slips his cold hands under Geralt’s sweater, relishing the way he squirms under his touch but won’t pull away from Jaskier’s kiss. They finally part only when their lungs demand it, Jaskier grinning mischievously up at Geralt, his fingers skittering as Geralt gently pulls his wrists away. 

“Come Jaskier, I have something that will warm you up.” Jaskier grins but trepidation tightens it and Geralt sends a silent plea for him to have just one day untainted by the horrors of his past.

Following Geralt through the house to the kitchen, Jaskier drapes his coat across the back of what he’s come to consider his stool while Geralt busies himself at the stove, turning back he sets a heavy mug before Jaskier, steam curling from the rich liquid within. “Marshmallows?” Geralt asks, heading for the pantry before Jaskier answers. 

“Did you...did you make us hot chocolate?” Jaskier asks, wrapping his cold fingers around the warm mug. A faint blush still stains Geralt’s cheeks when he returns with a container of marshmallows, Jaskier adding them one at a time and watching as they melt into sticky swirls.

“It’s better homemade.” Geralt shrugs as though it were nothing more than ripping open a packet and adding water. He nudges a plate towards Jaskier, pale yellow rectangle cookies piled in spiraling rows, “Shortbread cookies to cut the sweetness.” 

Jaskier plucks one from the spiral, dipping it in his cocoa before nibbling the end. “I want to swim in this.” He murmurs into the mug.

“That can be arranged.” Geralt teases and it’s Jaskier’s turn to blush as he realizes his inside thoughts have become outside ones. 

“Couch?” Jaskier asks hopefully and Geralt nods, picking up the plate and his own mug he follows Jaskier to the living room, steadying the plate of cookies on his lap as Jaskier tucks himself into his side just so, making sure he can still take sips and dunk cookies. 

Geralt’s arm finds its way around him, his hand drawing lazy paths over his side as they watch the fire, Jaskier filling the silence with antics from the museum’s light festival. 

“It’s snowing.” Jaskier notes, the flakes hard to miss as they blanket the woods beyond in the dimming light. His voice is soft, a tone Geralt knows means he’s slipping towards slumber and though he hates to rouse him, loves that Jaskier feels safe enough to fall asleep with him, he’d asked him here for a reason.

“Jask,” Geralt calls softly, Jaskier shifts back so he can meet Geralt’s eyes. “I, hmm, I didn’t just ask you here for dinner.” Any hint of sleep disappears at Geralt’s tone, Jaskier bolting up beside him, shame flashing across his face as he nervously tugs at his shirt hem. 

“Right, sorry. I’m fine, I can go. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, not that I was asleep but I get it–” Jaskier rambles and Geralt silently curses himself for ruining what had been leading to the perfect moment. 

“No, please stay, that’s not,” Geralt sighs, looking lost at Jaskier who hesitates on the edge of the couch. “I have something I’ve been meaning to give back to you.” 

Jaskier’s brow furrows as he tries to think of what he could have left here, he doesn’t have much so any of it going missing he would have noticed by now. “Did I...forget something here? In your truck?” 

“No.”

When Geralt doesn’t elaborate further Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Oooook then. It’s a surprise?” 

Geralt hesitates and Jaskier swears he’s nervous but he can’t place why he would be as Geralt hesitates to say, “Yes.” Jaskier is very nearly ready to say they start over and snuggle back into Geralt when he rises.

Jaskier watches Geralt over the back of the couch until he steps from view and finally turns back to the fire, figuring it _is_ supposed to be a surprise. Geralt returns long moments later, Jaskier’s mind having run rampant over the possibilities he has to force himself not to turn at the sound of his approaching footsteps. 

Geralt positions a basic guitar stand next to the fireplace, resting a beautiful acoustic guitar on it before turning to him. Jaskier gives Geralt a puzzled, albeit amused, glance before turning back to the guitar. 

“I didn’t leave…” The denial is drowned by tears as he recognizes the guitar before him, the guitar he _had_ left all those months ago.

“Your mother’s.” Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s moved but he somehow finds himself on his knees before it, hand hovering over the last piece he had of her. 

“Geralt.” His name, weighted with so much love, settles in the depths of the guitar to be echoed with every note. 

It had taken weeks for Geralt to find someone he trusted enough, who didn’t take one look at the carefully boxed pieces, tethered together only by their strings and suggest he trash it. There were scratches to the wood that couldn’t be smoothed out, a ridge on the neck that would be mistaken for a fret until clever fingers learned; scars the body would carry of memories best forgotten. 

Jaskier ghosts his fingers over the strings, the soft sounds bringing back memories he’d long since tucked away with the regret of abandoning it on the floor of Valdo’s apartment. Easing his mother’s guitar from the stand, a weight so familiar to Jaskier it aches as he settles it in his lap, absently strumming; it’s out of tune and it takes longer than it should to get it right, his fingers struck dumb. 

Jaskier doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the floor, absently strumming, just to hear _this_ guitar make sound once more but the next time he looks up Geralt has settled next to him, leaning back against the hearth, just watching. Jaskier doesn’t have the words to thank him, to express how much this means to him but it seems he doesn’t need to as Geralt smiles softly at him. 

“Play something for me?” Geralt invites and Jaskier nods, wanting nothing more. Pushing to his feet he offers Jaskier a hand, pulling him towards the couch he settles on the middle cushion, Jaskier sitting sideways next to him, legs across Geralt’s lap. 

Jaskier’s fingers pick out the easy rhythm, the soft strains mingling with the crackling of the fire. “The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you, in my arms…” As the final verse of [ You Are My Sunshine](https://youtu.be/2cBzMSPYKas) draws to a close Jaskier is barely whispering the words.

With a shuddering breath he rests the guitar in his lap, fingers tracing the outline of the pick-guard. “It was the first song she taught me.” 

“It was beautiful, Jaskier.” Geralt says, voice rough.

“She was.” Jaskier murmurs, swiping the tears from his cheeks as he offers Geralt a watery smile. The night is carried on songs, the snow piling up outside the window until finally Geralt slides himself out from under Jaskier with an excuse of starting dinner. 

Jaskier catches his hand as he goes by, upturned face expectant as Geralt ducks, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as though they’ve been doing it for years. Jaskier sits before the fire, sounds of his boyfriend cooking dinner mingling with the first songs he learned, the ones his mom taught him and he thinks maybe this is what home feels like. 

o~O~o

“I don’t think you should drive home tonight. Roads will be too rough by now.” Geralt comments casually, Jaskier following his gaze as he looks out across the blanket of still falling snow.

“Sure you don’t mind? I wasn’t really prepared to spend the night.” In truth Jaskier doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want this night to end. 

“You’re always welcome here and can borrow something to sleep in.” Geralt reassures, finding it sweet that Jaskier has yet to set the guitar aside, wondering if he’ll take it up to the spare room with him if only to keep it close. 

“This is like my first night here all over again.” It’s meant to be light, a casual observation that slips from his tongue before he can think better of it, but the pain of that night, the long months that have yet to see things healed, is still too heavy.

“The clothes are still there.” Geralt admits, mostly having forgotten about them but each time he remembered he couldn’t bring himself to reclaim them.

Jaskier grins, tangling their fingers as he pulls Geralt from the couch, resting his guitar on the stand as they pass on their way up the stairs, releasing his hold only to head to the spare room. Stepping into his own room, intent on getting pajama’s of his own, Geralt hears the spare room door shut, heart sinking as he realizes how naive he was to believe Jaskier might want him; the smallest part of him had hoped, with the way Jaskier had looked at him, that he might just hold him through the night. 

Grabbing the first old t-shirt he comes across Geralt shuts himself in his bathroom, mechanically going through the motions, his reflection mocking him, a reminder of why Jaskier would never stay, even if he deigned to be with him. Geralt finishes brushing his teeth under the solace of darkness. 

Opening the door Geralt is surprised to find Jaskier sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed similarly in one of his shirts and boxers. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathes his name, the anticipatory smile slowly falling from his face and Geralt wants nothing more than for it to return. 

“Sorry, I’ll go.” Jaskier starts to rise, taking Geralt’s heart with him.

“No. _Please_.” There’s such longing in his voice Jaskier stops, waits. “I don’t...you don’t have to do this.” Geralt can’t bring himself to admit the fear that’s threatened to consume him since Jaskier took his hand, that Valdo took his freewill as well. 

Blue eyes blow wide with understanding. “Oh. _No._ I mean not _no_ but no. Not tonight.” Panic running the words together. Geralt doesn’t dare move, Jaskier looking uncertain enough, but then he’s holding out his hands, beckoning Geralt closer. “Not _that_ , not tonight, but maybe…” Jaskier nips at Geralt’s lip, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt, 

“Geralt?” Jaskier pulls back, studying Geralt who’d gone rigid under his touch. 

“You shouldn’t have to see it.” Geralt grits out, unable to look at Jaskier.

Jaskier frowns, softly asking, “Please don’t hide from me.” It’s only at Geralt’s nod do Jaskier’s fingers start roaming once more as his own find their way to Jaskier’s hips, the skin soft and pliable under his hands. Geralt gets lost in tracing the delicious lower curve of Jaskier’s stomach, a gentle rounding out that not long ago had been caved in, he hardly resists when Jaskier pulls his shirt up, pressing close as he stretches to free Geralt of his clothing.

And then he’s staring. And silent.

Eyes skipping from one scar to the next, from thick ropes of raised tissue to the trenches where too much flesh was gouged out and all the ones in between. 

Geralt starts when Jaskier’s fingers ghost over the one from Istredd, the sunken flesh sensitive and shivering under his touch, blue eyes flicking up, filled with such pain. “Don’t hide from me.” Jaskier whispers the plea, pressing a kiss to the scar just inches from Geralt’s heart.

Jaskier's fingers trail over the slash that curves around the path of his ribs to his back, mapping it he finds the mess that is Geralt’s back, road rash mottling most of the right side. Barely heavier than a breath, Jaskier breathes kisses across the flesh, thumbs rubbing absent circles where they rest on his hips, a softness beginning to spill over the sides of his boxers, working his way until he’s standing before Geralt once more. 

Taking his hands Jaskier walks back towards the bed, pulling Geralt after him, seeming not to care about the scars as he encourages him down next to him, pressing his front along Geralt’s side, Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s chest, idly tracing patterns as Geralt’s fingers trail up and down his arm, relishing the feel of Jaskier pressed against him. 

Jaskier’s hand slows, falling still where it rests and Geralt thinks he’s finally been claimed by sleep but Jaskier is shifting, the sharp point of his chin digging into Geralt’s chest as he finds his eyes in the semi-dark. “I love you.” 

Geralt’s hand stops, thinking his mind is playing tricks, that he’d fallen asleep but Jaskier’s tucking himself back into his side, fitting perfectly and after all these months Geralt puts voice to the feeling he dared not name, “I love you, Jask.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Things. ALL the things.  
> I knew Geralt couldn't leave that guitar, not after he learned it was Jaskier's mother's and I knew he would get it fixed and give it back to him...at some point. And then, Mistress of Coldtown over here, I cried while writing that scene. Apparently my feels can be summoned with an appropriately crushing moment and the right song. (The song version linked is how I imagine his mom sounded when singing).  
> Oh yeah, and then that ending happened.  
> I would love to read your thoughts!


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re beautiful, Jask.” Geralt reminds him and though Jaskier nods Geralt knows he doesn’t fully believe the words, but that’s ok, Geralt will remind him every day if that’s what it takes to make him see himself for the marvelous creature Geralt sees him as. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are one chapter away from this fic ending and I don't know about you lovely readers but I'm not ready.  
> I can't thank you enough for reading this far and another thank you for the comments, they get me through my days. 
> 
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

For the first time in years Geralt wakes slowly, not from pain or an alarm, but to the shifting of someone pressing closer. Sometime during the night they had turned on their sides, Geralt’s arm tingling from where it’s pinned under Jaskier who’s using it as a pillow. 

Jaskier shifts again in his sleep, features scrunching as he tries to bring his knees up, only succeeding in knocking them into Geralt who hesitates, having a good guess after all these weeks what’s bothering him. It’s the huffed whine that decides it, Gearlt rests his hand on the taut swell of Jaskier’s stomach and with the gentlest of pressure tries to soothe the ache within. 

Jaskier sighs, trying to press closer to Geralt sends a new wave of prickling up his arm, stirring him from the sleep that had slowed his ministrations. But the feel of Jaskier heavy in his arms, limbs tangled from reaching for him even in sleep slows his hand once more and slumber claims him again. 

The next time Geralt wakes it’s to calloused fingers rasping over his chest in aimless patterns, “Good morning, Jaskier.” Blue eyes and perfect lips he never wants to see turned on anyone else fix on him. “I want to spend the rest of my mornings waking up to you.” 

Jaskier’s lips curl, amused as he teases. “But not your nights going to sleep?” 

“I have you in my dreams.” Geralt admits, silently chastising himself when Jaskier buries his face in his chest. It was one thing for Jaskier to accept his scars and recent softening around his hips but he _knew_ Jaskier’s history and he’d carelessly ignored it in favor of his own wants. 

“Jask, I’m sorry, please–” The apology dies on his lips as Jaskier lifts his head, chin digging into his chest once more as he smiles at Geralt, biting his bottom lip.

“I’d like to spend my mornings waking up in your arms too.” The admittance is quiet, as though he fears Geralt will change his mind if spoken too loudly but Geralt just encourages him up so he can kiss away any lingering doubts.

o~O~o

“Not that I don’t want you to drive me, but I’ve seen you cook and this kitchen doesn’t resemble anything close to the disaster that is you cooking a holiday meal.” Jaskier teases, taking another bite of the delicious breakfast Geralt had insisted on making. 

“The drive will be slick and most of it’s already done, what isn’t doesn’t take long.” Geralt counters, pouring Jaskier more juice. He thinks how he could get used to this, having breakfast with Jaskier every morning, that if he’s a heavy enough sleeper he could surprise him with breakfast in bed.

Jaskier doesn’t argue further, he rather enjoyed the idea of getting to spend more time with Geralt and wasn’t that what Christmas was all about, spending the day with the ones you loved.

Jaskier’s grateful Geralt is not one to let dishes sit, his hands and mind occupied as he joins Geralt at the sink, the dishes cleaned and put away before they’re out the door. A winter wonderland is waiting for them as Geralt drives them back towards town, the fresh blanket of snow undisturbed and glittering in the morning light, Jaskier falling silent as he takes in the scenery around him. 

“I’ll take a quick shower, change and then we can go.” Jaskier calls over his shoulder as he disappears down the hall. The presents are neatly arranged on his kitchen table and Geralt knows he shouldn’t be surprised those nimble fingers can wrap presents like a professional. 

The shower running sounds deeper in the apartment and Geralt debates for a moment before deciding to be useful and sets about gathering the presents and loading them in the truck, grateful for Yennefer’s insistence of reusable bags as they protect the careful wrapping. 

With the presents loaded Geralt notices a silence resonating through the apartment, the shower having shut off sometime while he was taking presents to the truck. Without thinking about it he drifts towards the table where Jaskier had lined up pictures, grimacing at the ones from the carousel ride on Ciri’s birthday, Triss had been all too happy to share prints from the video she’d somehow managed to record. It was a calendar of Jaskier’s deterioration and his crawl through recovery, the latest one from the Toy Drive, Jaskier sitting on Geralt’s lap, still dressed as Santa, the ugly sweater they’d gotten him clinging to his small belly.

Another ten minutes pass with no sign of Jaskier, the silence of the apartment growing more daunting with each passing minute until Geralt can stand it no longer. Though his body near demands he run down the hall, too many ghosts of battles fought crowding the space, Geralt forces his pace to be slow, willing Jaskier to appear with each step. 

The door to the bedroom is pushed near closed so Geralt raps his knuckle on the jamb, “Jask?” Worry wells up in Geralt, what if he was sick from breakfast? Though Jaskier was able to handle a larger variety of food, he still could only manage small quantities, he’d finally admitted to Geralt it was hard to eat with a phantom fullness tricking his stomach and the ache that plagued him most nights. 

No answer comes and a new fear wells inside Geralt, it had been months since Jaskier passed out but the silence was loud enough for the fear to consume him and with a final call of his name he pushes open the door. The room is more bare than the living room, no pictures grace the dresser, the bed made with military precision but Geralt hardly notices any of it as he finds Jaskier sitting on the foot of the bed, tears streaming silently down his face.

Something in Jaskier’s posture tells Geralt his name had fallen on deaf ears, drowned by whatever hate was creeping through his mind, undoing Geralt’s careful work. Crossing, Geralt kneels before Jaskier, blue eyes glazed with tears settling on him but not truly seeing him. “Jask.” Geralt risks a hand on his knee, encouraging Jaskier back, seeing awareness light in his eyes as he finds Geralt before him.

“I think I’d like to stay here.” The words are a whisper that clearly cost Jaskier to say, his eyes having slid to the wall behind Geralt. 

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” Geralt offers, fresh tears tracking down Jaskier’s cheeks, his arms tightening where they hug himself. “Will you let me stay with you?” 

Geralt’s question serves only to distress Jaskier more as he trips over his protest, “It’s Christmas and you’re having everyone over and–”

“They’ll understand.” Geralt hates to silence him but it’s clear Jaskier is working himself into a panic attack. Geralt moves so he’s sitting next to Jaskier, a tentative arm around him offering comfort and though he doesn’t unwind his arms from around his stomach Jaskier lets himself be tucked into Geralt’s side, allowing himself a comfort he doesn’t believe he deserves. 

They sit like that for long minutes, the only sound the occasional hitch in Jaskier’s breathing as he tries to choke down the tears that keep welling. Geralt knows he needs to contact the others, tell them it’s a Bad Day and excuse them from Christmas, he knows they’ll understand, possibly show up here which he’s not sure would be better or worse. But he can’t bring himself to move, fearing Jaskier will take it as him finally being too big a burden.

“It doesn’t fit.” The words are low and rough, making no sense in the heavy silence. Geralt doesn’t want to ask, knows better than to make Jaskier explain whatever has him so upset, what he should _already_ know. Whether it’s to help Geralt or to prod at his own pain Jaskier’s arms uncurl, hand drifting down to pluck at the hem of his sweater. 

Geralt watches the gesture, taking in the sweater he’d admired on Jaskier at Thanksgiving and hadn’t seen since, the clinging fabric snug over the belly just starting to spill into his lap. He’s not surprised by it, Jaskier often tucking himself into his side at night, stomach bloated from trying to eat throughout the day, then pressed against him this morning and Geralt wonders if maybe Jaskier hasn’t noticed.

“Looks fine to me.” Geralt admits, watery blue eyes searching for the lie in the words but finding none drops back to scowling at the offending swell. 

“You don’t…” Jaskier can’t bring himself to ask if he thinks it will still fit tonight, when his stomach is at its roundest, to hear Geralt’s answer, and so the question ends in a shuddering breath. 

Geralt hesitantly rests his hand on Jaskier's belly, feeling him tense under the touch but knowing he needs to hear the words, needs to understand this isn’t going to make him leave. “This is the best Christmas gift, Jask, it means you’re still here, still fighting and you’re getting _healthier._ ” 

Tears well in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt hates the sinking feel of hopelessness that weighs him, he didn’t care about Christmas or the traditional family dinner, he just wanted, just _once_ to not fail him. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier roughly swipes at the tears, rubbing wet palms on his thighs. “I...I _want_ to get better, I just…” Jaskier is back to tugging the hem of the sweater. “Don’t leave me?” 

“Jask,” Geralt waits until Jaskier drags his head up, warily looking at him. “I meant what I said, I love you. This doesn’t change that. This will _never_ change that.” Geralt gently rubs the swell to emphasize his point, Jaskier relaxing the slightest bit into the touch and Geralt wonders if breakfast is paining him as well.

They stay like that, Jaskier gradually easing under Geralt’s touch, his tears tapering off and Geralt is starting to think he may be able to get away with texting the group soon when Jaskier says, “It’s really fine?” 

It takes Geralt long moments figure out what Jaskier is referring to but when he does he ducks his head, catching Jaskier’s eye as he says, “Yes. Looks just as good on you as it did at Thanksgiving, maybe better.” 

Jaskier’s mouth twitches toward a smile, nodding to himself, “I could change. Wear that blue one Yennefer helped me pick out.” 

“If you want.” Geralt has a feeling no matter what Jaskier wears he’ll doubt how he looks, but he might be more comfortable and at least that’s something. Jaskier reluctantly stands from Geralt’s embrace, moving to his closet he pulls out the sweater in question, glancing to Geralt before he slips from the room, returning only once he’s changed.

“It looks fine.” Geralt says, looking him over, this one not as snug 

“You’re terrible at reassurances.” Jaskier’s laugh is still wet with tears, but at least he’s smiling.

“So Ciri’s told me.” Geralt shrugs. 

“I...like the other one.” Jaskier admits, biting his lip as he looks back at the door.

“Then wear that one.” Geralt encourages. Jaskier lingers a moment longer before slipping through the door, returning wearing the original sweater, tossing the other on the bed where he stares at it for a long moment before hastily picking it up and rehanging it in the closet. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Jaskier murmurs, turning back to Geralt.

“It’s fine and we don’t have to do this. I’m happy to spend the day with just you.” Jaskier stands in the vee of Geralt’s legs, hands resting on his shoulder and he looks down at his boyfriend.

“I know, but I...want to. I think I should.” Geralt nods, understanding. Pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s stomach he stands, loosely wrapping his arms around him he presses one to his lips, gentle and filled with love. 

Geralt’s phone sounds in his pocket, the ringtone Ciri set for Yennefer breaking them apart but Geralt makes no move to answer it.

“It might be important.” Jaskier reasons and Geralt can’t argue that and digs his phone out of his pocket, Jaskier’s rattling across the dresser behind him pulling him away. It’s video messages from Ciri, wishing each of them a Merry Christmas and reminding them it’s only two hours until she gets to see them. 

Jaskier watches the video, then again, his smile growing more genuine with each play through. “Guess we should go.” 

“If things get too much you know you’re always welcome to head upstairs, they’ll understand.” Geralt reminds him, failing to mention how he’d follow, hold him close and remind him everything is ok. 

o~O~o

“Merry Christmas Pama!” There’s a brief pause before, “Julian! Look what’s I got!” Jaskier leans forward, setting his cup of hot chocolate on the table as Ciri’s voice rings through the house, Yennefer’s scolding distant. Ciri skids to a stop before him, a childsized guitar case in her hand.

“What have you got there?” Jaskier teases as she sets it on the couch next to him, unsnapping the latches holding it closed she opens the lid and looks at him, expectant. 

“Very nice.” Jaskier admires the small guitar within, the body a deep purple that fades to black on the edges. She beams at him, gently running her fingers over the chords.

“I’m gonna be just as famous as you some day.” Ciri tells him seriously.

“As famous as _me_? You’ll be even _more_ famous, you’ll be a rockstar, everyone will know your name.” Her grin widens at his words as she runs her fingers across the chords, it’s out of tune but she doesn’t know that. 

“Corrupting the youth now?” Lambert says by way of greeting, Eskel shaking his head behind him. 

“You can play after dinner, Ciri.” Yennefer chides, sharing a look with Jaskier. Ciri gives her guitar one last longing look before she’s shutting the case, with exaggerated disappointment she carries it off to the side, getting distracted on the way. 

“This isn’t your guitar.” Ciri notes, looking from the stand holding his mom’s guitar to him. There’s a subtle shifting about the room, Geralt reclaiming his seat next to Jaskier, offering support with his presence.

“That was my mom’s guitar. It got broken but Geralt had it fixed for me so I can play it again.” Jaskier measures the words out, the slightest tremor running through him. Geralt puts his arm around him, wondering if the guitar, for all Jaskier loved it, was only ever going to bring him pain.

Ciri frowns, carefully leaving her case beside it. “Doesn’t your mommy play no more?” 

Jaskier visibly swallows, “She...she, no, not for a long while.” Jaskier can’t tear his eyes from the guitar and Yennefer has the answer she’d feared to be true since Jaskier came under Witcher protection, he had no family left to claim him. 

“Come on Ciri, what do you say we get some hot chocolate?” Yennefer holds her hand out, beckoning her daughter to her side.

“With marshmallows?” Ciri asks hopefully, thoughts easily distracted as she takes Yennefer’s hand and follows her into the kitchen.

“We should bring the presents in.” Lambert rumbles, shoving up from his chair he gives Geralt an apologetic look before fleeing, Eskel in tow. 

“She loved Christmas.” Jaskier whispers, a sadness weighing the corners of his smile as he turns to Geralt. “Sorry.” 

“There is no reason to be sorry.” Geralt soothes, the lie souring on his tongue. There are so many reasons for Jaskier to be sorry, though none of them are his fault. 

By the time Lambert and Eskel come in with the presents, Jaskier has collected himself, taking fortifying sips of hot chocolate. “Look what Santa dropped off.” Eskel teases, Triss trailing behind in an oversized deep green sweater and black leggings. 

“Merry Christmas.” Triss dips, wrapping her arms around first Jaskier then Geralt before she folds herself up in one of the overstuffed chairs. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get the rest of the presents.” Lambert grumbles as he turns and heads back for the door.

“Awe, disgruntled elf, what must Santa think?” Triss teases, making no move to get up. Ciri returns, Yennefer following behind with two mugs of hot chocolate, passing Ciri hers after she settles on the couch next to Jaskier. 

They fall into easy chatter, Eskel and Lambert returning with the last of the presents, fitting them around the tree before taking seats of their own. Ciri rummages in the chest of board games tucked under the stairs and returns with Uno and Catan Junior, face falling when Jaskier scoops up Uno but he just sets it to the side, sliding the lid off Catan he flashes a grin to Ciri. 

As they set up the game the others filter into the kitchen, bringing back plates of food and drinks, Geralt nudging Jaskier to gain his attention before he’s setting a plate before him. He’d been careful to fill it with food he hoped would be gentle on his stomach, a ham and cheese slider, the homemade mac ‘n cheese Yennefer was known for, mashed potatoes that he knows are easy on his stomach and green beans. 

They play through two rounds, taking turns refilling plates, Jaskier passing the remnants of his second one to Geralt who accepts it without comment, pleased Jaskier even nibbled at it when Yennefer brought it to him. 

The silent conversation with Geralt passing over Ciri’s head as the second round comes to a close and Yennefer suggests, “What do you say we open some presents?” Ciri is all too happy to pack away the game at those words, dashing back to reclaim the Uno cards and return them to the game chest. Triss insists on taking a picture of the tree before they start and Jaskier doesn’t blame her, it’s certainly a sight.

Tucked in the corner of the large windows and bookcases by the fireplace it looks like something Jaskier has seen in malls, like the one in the museum entrance, over a story tall and decked to the nines. It had taken hours to decorate, though Ciri did insist on stopping for cookies and cocoa and only Geralt was allowed on the ladder until it came time to put the star on top and then Ciri was escorted up by Geralt. 

Now with gifts hiding the skirt from view it looks even more like something from a catalog and Jaskier idly wonders if Triss will insist on getting another picture of it with the instacamera he got her. Maybe it’ll be the first one she takes. 

Ciri dons a Santa hat and works her way through the presents surrounding the tree, doling them out until everyone has a sizable pile before them. It’s organized chaos after that, wrapping paper littering the ground like confetti, laughter and thanks called in appreciation. 

Ciri throws herself at Jaskier and he bites back a hiss when she accidentally elbows him in his tender stomach after opening her rainbow guitar strap and learning he’s going to teach her to play. Yennefer tears up when she opens her certificate for a complete spa treatment and promise to babysit Ciri; even Eskel looks pleased with the glass blowing class Jaskier gifted him. 

It’s Geralt’s gift Jaskier is most nervous about, in the wake of his mother’s guitar being restored and here, before their close friend’s Jaskier wonders if maybe he should have given Geralt his gift privately. Geralt opens the blanket first, it’s an oversize throw, the fabric lush and a deep green that Jaskier thought would look lovely against Geralt’s dark furniture. 

Geralt’s grin is mischievous as he thanks Jaskier, the bard blushing as he realizes Geralt thinks he was implying something with the gift and while that hadn’t been his original intent, Jaskier couldn’t claim it hadn’t occurred to him. Geralt is surprised to find another package from Jaskier, this one considerably heavier and Jaskier shifts nervously beside him, looking as though he wants to say something but no words come.

The box under the wrapping paper is nondescript, forcing Geralt to open it and what he finds inside gives him pause as his eyes trail over it, taking in the detail.

“Oh god, did you forget to poke holes in the box? I warned you.” Triss teases, pulling Geralt from his admiration. With the utmost care he unpacks the tea set, a deep bronze with leaves stamped into the metal of the teapot itself, a matching charger with three balls for legs. The handleless cups, fitting perfectly in his grasp no matter how he holds them, the same dark material, each with their own coaster in the shape of a leaf. 

“Thank you, Jask.” Geralt murmurs, his eyes lingering on the most thoughtful gift he’d ever been given, turning he kisses Jaskier, both laughing and pulling apart at Ciri’s giggles. 

“Come on, don’t think we haven’t noticed.” Yennefer lightly scolds Jaskier who had been procrastinating opening his presents, finding the unfamiliar custom awkward. 

“Right.” Jaskier nods to himself, grateful there’s only one left, though now that he’s the only one left to open anything the focus is on him. It’s from Ciri, his proper name carefully printed on the tag in her blocky script, though clearly the wrapping was all Yennefer. 

Tearing off the paper reveals a familiar shoebox and he glances at her, doubt on his features, but her Cheshire grin confirms his suspicions. “Thank you, but...this is too much.” Jaskier protests, all too familiar with how much Converse cost, much less a new pair. 

“You add any more duct tape and they're going to be more tape than shoe.” Yennefer shakes her head, mom tone in full force. 

“Duct tape is festive, not waterproof, but colorful.” Jaskier shrugs, impressed she even managed to get his shoesize right and guesses it’s a mom thing, missing the breathed, “What the fuck?” From Lambert.

“If that’s it I’ll grab a trash bag for the wrapping paper.” Jaskier says, moving to stand when Eskel says, “There’s actually one more thing.” Eskel rises, retrieving a sizable box from beside the tree he settles it on Jaskier’s lap who glances around, noting the serious tone that had fallen over them.

With nothing to do but open the mysterious present Jaskier tears open the paper, revealing a glossy white box underneath, the kind in which his mother packed away the expensive dresses she wore for her concertos. Sliding off the lid, Jaskier folds back the black tissue paper and is met with a carefully folded leather jacket, familiar white letters staring back at him. 

“You’ve more than earned your place among the Witchers, Jaskier. We’d be honored if you joined us.” Eskel tells him, glancing uncertainly to Geralt as Jaskier traces the letters with a shaking finger. 

Jaskier finally raises his eyes, disbelief clear on his features. This was something Valdo had talked about, wanted for so long, Jaskier had never considered it himself, never imagined he’d be worthy, especially not after he was saved by them. 

“That jacket is yours, no one else has worn it, they’re made only when someone is to be inducted.” To anyone else Lambert’s words would sound callous, like he’s annoyed by Jaskier’s skepticism but his family knows he just wants Jaskier to understand, they want _him_.

Jaskier is embarrassed by the tears that well in his eyes, throat tight as he murmurs, “Thank you, it’s...an honor.” At their insistence Jaskier rises, slipping on the jacket, the weight familiar yet so different from Geralt’s, this one not yet laden by experiences. Fresh tears well in his eyes when he moves to close it, the sides barely meeting over his bloated stomach, the others easily mistaking them for happy tears. 

Jaskier tucks himself back into Geralt’s side, the jacket in his lap as he traces the letters over and over. Ciri brings him her guitar and the strap he’d given her and he teaches her how to tune her guitar, Triss snaping pictures of them with her new camera, as he tries to ignore the growing discomfort in his stomach. 

It’s late into the night when everyone finally departs, Lambert pulling Jaskier in for a surprising, albeit brief, hug, thanking him for the expensive whiskey Jaskier had gifted him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Geralt says it so casually, as though it wasn’t even a question in his mind that Jaskier might drive home. Truthfully, Jaskier wants nothing more than to curl up in Geralt’s arms and lets himself be pulled up from the couch by Geralt who tangles their fingers as he leads them up the stairs. 

Geralt takes his time undressing Jaskier, starting with the ratty Converse that will meet their end tomorrow, he’s unable to keep the surprise from his face when fingers brush skin, the button to his jeans already undone. Jaskier’s cheeks burn, his head ducking in shame and Geralt’s heart drops.

“Jask.”

“I understand.” Jaskier starts to back away from Geralt who encourages him back, hands light on his hips. 

“You don’t though.” Geralt murmurs. “Hurting tonight?” Jaskier nods, still unable to meet Geralt’s eyes. 

Geralt knew it was a struggle for Jaskier, his stomach still so unused to food, he fought to eat even small amounts throughout the day, often feeling full when he’d hardly eaten. Then there was the food baby issue as Jaskier referred to it on one of his Good Days, his stomach painfully bloated by the evening, he often wanted nothing more than to curl up and wish the hours away. 

Watching Jaskier for the first sign of him needing to stop, Geralt works his jeans down before moving onto his shirt, hand slipping under the hem he strokes Jaskier’s sides, pressing a kiss to his lips as he slides the shirt up and over. 

“You’re beautiful, Jask.” Geralt reminds him and though Jaskier nods Geralt knows he doesn’t fully believe the words, but that’s ok, Geralt will remind him every day if that’s what it takes to make him see himself for the marvelous creature Geralt sees him as. 

Grabbing the abandoned sleep shirt from the previous night Geralt offers it and after a long moment where Jaskier stares at it he takes it, pulling it on as though it’s more shameful than being shirtless. Jaskier kisses Geralt as he passes, slipping into the bathroom to brush his teeth and Geralt takes the chance to change into a sleep shirt of his own.

When Jaskier returns Geralt is already stretched out in bed and so he circles around, movements slow as he settles on side, willing the pain to abate long enough for him to fall asleep. He feels Geralt shift closer, pressing his front the length of Jaskier’s back, his warm hand slipping under his borrowed shirt, gently rubbing soothing circles on the taut swell.

“It will get better, I promise.” Geralt whispers. Jaskier nods, Geralt has yet to lie to him and though he knows he’s talking about more than just tonight, it’s not long before the pain eases under Geralt’s touch and Jaskier falls asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas angst. Christangst? Christmangst?  
> It only took...nevermind that's a staggering number. But! He has new shoes AND he got a Witcher jacket. 
> 
> Sadly, we only have one chapter left and while I should probably put this there instead of here...I have been writing a sequel that picks up days after where the next chapter leaves off. But, as Randy from Scream would argue, sequels are a messy business amd can ruin the first installment. To you, my lovely readers, what do you think?
> 
> Alternatively, find me on the tumbles under process-pending. My in/ask box is always open.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Jaskier moves in with Geralt is subdued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome one final time lovely readers. It is bittersweet, I had written the final line of this chapter early on in penning BatS, knew where the story would end but not the journey to get there and here we are at last. I never imagined your support or kind words and I can't thank you enough for them.

The day Jaskier moves in with Geralt is subdued.

Jaskier wakes, safe and content in Geralt’s arms, his wolf already awake and watching him. “Good morning, Jaskier.” Geralt greets him with a catlike blink. Jaskier stretches, pressing infinitesimally closer, relishing the unusual heat Geralt puts off. 

Jaskier wants to stay that way, tucked into Geralt’s side for the rest of his days, feeling safe and loved but he also wants to call this place home and so he wills himself from bed. 

It’s still a fumbling routine, Jaskier defaulting to getting ready in the spare bathroom, his bag of toiletries repacked and stowed each time. As he steps from the bathroom the smell of breakfast tells him where Geralt’s gotten off to and he pauses only long enough to pull on his Converse, still relishing their new feeling.

Jaskier pauses in the archway to the kitchen, wondering what people would think if they saw the leader of the Witchers all domesticated, ladling oatmeal from the crockpot. Jaskier steps up behind Geralt, sliding his hands over the little bit of hip that spills over the edge of his jeans, pressing his hands to the flat plane of Geralt’s stomach, laughing softly at the full body shiver he elicits.

“Always so cold.” Geralt grumbles, squirming when Jaskier’s fingers blindly trace the valleys of muscle.

“Maybe you should warm them.” Jaskier purrs, knowing the taunt is nonsense but he’d give anything to climb back into bed and just be held a little longer.

Geralt’s turning in his embrace, a raised eyebrow and mischievous grin challenging as he says, “Ciri’s technique should do.” 

Jaskier doesn’t give him a chance to bluff as he stretches up, distracting Geralt with a kiss as he reclaims his hands before dashing around the island and onto his stool. 

Geralt sets a bowl of oatmeal before Jaskier, soon joined by a small plate of fresh fruit and a cinnamon swirl pancake. Setting his own breakfast next to Jaskier on the counter, Geralt fills their glasses with juice before taking a seat. 

Jaskier knows something is coming, the glances Geralt keeps giving him doing nothing to quell the rising panic twisting his stomach. The oatmeal sticks in Jaskier’s throat, wondering when Geralt will tell him. Here over breakfast, give him the chance to collect the gifts he’d left here after Christmas, or maybe he’ll do it once they’re at the apartment, save the awkward ride over. No, he would have to do it here, he’s _going_ to do it here, Jaskier can just pack up his car and be out of Geralt’s house. 

“Jaskier–”

“I understand.” Jaskier cuts Geralt off, not wanting to hear Geralt try to explain why he changed his mind.

Geralt huffs a defeated laugh, “You always say that but you never do.” Jaskier turns hurt eyes on Geralt. “I wanted to make sure this is what _you_ wanted. Nothing has to change between us, you can keep the apartment if that makes you more comfortable, spend whatever nights you want here.”

The twisting inside Jaskier eases, it’s not that Geralt didn’t want him here, it was that Geralt didn’t want him here if _he_ didn’t want to be here. “I want this. I want...us.” Jaskier admits.

“You don’t have to live here for there to be an us.” Geralt stresses.

“I...this feels like home, here, with you.” Jaskier murmurs to his oatmeal, chancing a glance at Geralt who’s looking at him with such fondness Jaskier can’t help but smile. 

o~O~o

Lambert and Eskel aren’t there, they aren’t needed as there’s only one more box filled since Jaskier moved in, containing the blanket and cup Ciri gave him, the pictures he’d framed carefully wrapped and packed. Geralt loads the boxes as he fills them, Jaskier carrying the one never unpacked from the bottom of his closet, feeling lighter than when he’d placed it within months ago. 

“We’ll come by every Sunday, bring her a plate.” Geralt tells Jaskier who’s been fighting back tears at the thought of telling Betty goodbye. Jaskier looks at Geralt with surprise but he just shrugs, “It’s tradition.” And Witchers don’t mess with tradition. 

With a steadying breath Jaskier heads across the hall, knocking on Betty’s door. 

“Julian!” Her smile falters when she takes in Geralt standing behind him, the tears in his eyes. “Dear heart, what’s wrong?” Her hands are soft in his as she squeezes them, peering up with such concern he fears he won’t keep his tears much longer.

“I wanted to tell you goodbye. I’m moving.” 

Betty drops her voice, a conspiratorial whisper. “This is something you want?”

“Yeah, it’ll be home.” Jaskier’s apologetic tone brings a smile to Betty’s face. “Then it’s not goodbye. You know where to find me.” 

“I’ll come back in a few weeks, we’ll put those tulips in.” Jaskier promises, needing the security of future plans.

“I’ll hold you to that, but until then keep an old woman company for lunch once in a while.” She hugs him then and Jaskier swipes away the few tears that had slipped free when they part. “Please tell me you’re not running around without a coat again? I told you the next time I saw you without a jacket I was buying you one.” 

“I now have _two_ jackets.” Jaskier reassures. When Betty looks skeptical he chuckles and promises proof, turning he heads back across the hall.

“He looks better, healthier.” Geralt turns to Betty, hackles raising as he reminds himself she’s an elder. And Eskel will be so very disappointed. The distaste he expects to find isn’t there, instead she’s giving him a look that sets him in his place. “You’ll take care of him..” 

“For the rest of my days.” Geralt vows. 

Jaskier reappears, pulling on the Witcher jacket, a triumphant grin on his face. “What happened to that festive one you had? With all the colors.” 

Jaskier sheepishly glances at Geralt as Betty pulls him close for a hug, “I still have that one.” 

“You’re full of color, Julian. You were just starting to–” Betty cuts herself off, hands running over the raised lettering across his shoulders. Stepping back she turns him around, taking in the word stark against the black leather. Gentle hands urge him to face her once more, “Be safe.” 

“I promise.” 

“This is good work, but it’s heavy, don’t let it steal your colors.” Betty presses.

“I promise.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” Tears brim in Betty’s eyes now.

“ _I promise_.” Jaskier says, with one last hug.

The ride back is quiet, their hands tangled on the seat between them until Geralt stops the truck at the top of the long drive that leads to their house and Jaskier turns to him, wondering. “Welcome home, Jask.” 

Jaskier beams at him, stretching across the seat he kisses Geralt in such a way he's grateful it's a private road.

They carry the boxes in, Geralt having already cleared shelves in the living room so that Jaskier might line up his composition books, an honor Jaskier had blushed at when Geralt casually explained his sudden rearrangement.

There’s a moment as they’re carrying boxes up the stairs where fear flashes through Geralt and he thinks Jaskier might duck into the spare room. Moving in and sharing a bed night after night two radically different things but after the briefest of pauses Jaskier strides into Geralt’s room, depositing the box he’s carrying at the foot of the bed before chancing a glance at Geralt who gathers him in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

Geralt leaves Jaskier finishing unpacking to start lunch, grilled cheese and tomato soup, a comforting meal he knew was easy on Jaskier’s stomach. When he steps back into the living room he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s composition books neatly lined up, the box collapsed next to the bookcase, but no Jaskier. 

Padding upstairs Geralt finds Jaskier in their bedroom, a packed box before him on the bed, his hands resting on the closed lid, willing the contents to stay within while simultaneously gathering the courage to free them.

Geralt intends to slip back downstairs, realizing he’s intruding on a moment he doesn’t understand but blue eyes settle on him as though sensing he was near. “Jask?” Geralt lingers in the doorway, unsure. 

“I packed this the last day I saw my father.” Jaskier huffs a mirthless laugh. “He didn’t _accept_ he had a faggot for a son, much less one who was throwing his life away to be a _groupie_.” The words are absent of pain, having been turned over so many times in his mind their sharp edges worn smooth.

Geralt understands his hesitance now, what it would mean for him to open that box, what it would cost him and Geralt hates that he’s unable to bear this for him. 

“I can go.” Geralt offers, but fear flashes in Jaskier’s eyes. Without a word Geralt stands behind Jaskier, loosely wrapping his arms about his waist, reassuring, as Jaskier leans back into him. They stay like that for long minutes until Jaskier takes a shuddering breath, pulls free the folded flaps and gets no further. 

On top rests a picture frame, the right half showing a woman, her arms around a much younger Jaskier, their relation unmistakable in the infectious grin they both wear. With a shaking hand Jaskier picks it up, the chain in the window to the left of the frame pulling taut from the weight of a small dandelion pendant, the one around the woman’s neck in the picture. 

“She’s beautiful.” Geralt’s voice is low, Jaskier’s jerky nod belying his composure. Geralt eases the frame from Jaskier’s hands, moving to the dresser he tucks it between a photo of him between Lambert and Esekl, arms thrown around one another and a picture of him, Ciri and Yennefer and for the first time in years, Jaskier feels like he belongs to someone. 

o~O~o

Geralt had often appreciated the view the balcony afforded him, the woods across his sprawling backyard beautiful in any season, but especially in this moment. Jaskier is in what Geralt’s quickly coming to recognize as one of his favorite spots, sitting on the floor in the middle of the windows, his mother’s guitar in his lap as he softly sings to himself, a private performance for an audience only present in spirit. 

There’s so little of Jaskier throughout the house and Geralt fears it will only ever feel like his and never _theirs_ , but Jaskier doesn’t seem bothered, or if he does, he doesn’t let it show. Geralt’s eyes scan the space beyond Jaskier, imagining where the studio he’s going to build him will go, a place he can go that’s all his own, but still close to home. Geralt smiles softly at the thought of that particular battle, of how he’ll tell Jaskier who will undoubtedly try to talk him out of it.

Geralt knows the way ahead of them is long and rough, relapses, with slamming doors and harsh words and pleas delivered on tears, but Jaskier is trying and they’ll survive it like they have all else, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random tidbit: While I was writing the part where Jaskier unpacks his mom's picture frame my Youtube creepily queued up his mom's version of Sunshine that I'd linked and started playing. So there were inadvertent tears with a fine misting of creeped out.
> 
> I can't thank you lovely readers enough for sticking with this story, through the long spiral down and the glacial burn. Your comments have brightened my months more than I can express. 
> 
> Also, your outpouring of support for a sequel has chased away the doubts I've been cuddling for months and in keeping with the tradition, I will post the first chapter on Saturday. 
> 
> The incredible VeritasRose, in addition to being my muse and betareader, assembled this playlist of songs based on BatS: [The Biker and the Songbird Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wRMX7jzNYRQcCldAh8GLt?si=9qaQdT2EQw-Qhfa08C6MAg)


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